Charlie
by the lurker
Summary: It was late when the lone man rode into Dodge, his horse played out, his clothes dusty from a hard trail, and his pockets full of money that didn't belong to him. But the truth of who he was and why he was in Dodge could be a hard fact to face...
1. Chapter 1

GUNSMOKE

"Charlie"

It was late when the lone man rode into Dodge, his horse played out, his clothes dusty from a hard trail, and his pockets full of money that didn't belong to him. Seeing the livery, he rode up, dismounted and knocked on the door; momentarily an old man with sleepy eyes stepped out.

"Put your horse up, mister?"

"Yeah. Give him all the grain and water he wants, and he needs a good groomin' too. It's been a long trail fer him."

"Looks like for both of you."

"Yeah," the man said, grinning.

"Stayin' long?" Moss asked as he eyed the tall man.

"Don't know yet," was all he said, although he understood the underlying meaning of the question. He reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a ten dollar gold piece. "Here. This should cover me for awhile."

"Sure will, mister, thanks."

Moss watched the tall stranger clad in the clothes of a gambler as he ambled up the street, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he knew the man from somewhere. He watched him until he disappeared into the Dodge House, and then Moss led the gelding into the stable, making a mental note that he might mention the gambler's late-night arrival to the marshal. It was probably nothing, but Moss was certain he'd seen the man somewhere before.

* * *

When Doc entered the saloon, Kitty was sipping her morning coffee, reading the newspaper. "Mornin' Doc," she said smiling.

"Morning," he grumbled as he sat down in a chair next to her, moaning as he did so.

Kitty bent her head down to look under the brim of his hat and into his eyes. "Well what in the world is the matter with you this morning?"

"Oh...I was out at the Collier's place all night. Youngest is down with whoopin' cough."

She pulled his hat off his head, setting it down on a chair. "Sam," she called to the bartender, "Can I get a cup for Doc?"

"Sure thing, Miss Kitty."

Kitty returned her attention to the newspaper, and Sam brought the old doctor a blue and white cup.

"Thanks Sam," the old man said as he poured some of the hot, dark liquid into it. He took a sip and glanced at Kitty. "What's in there that's got you so absorbed?"

"A story about a gamblin' ring in Texas..."

Adams swallowed his mouthful of coffee a little hard. "Gambling ring?"

"Yeah, seems they had a front man who purposefully lost money to set up a bunch of rich ranchers. Then his partners joined them at the table, and cheated the poor marks out of everything they had."

Doc took another sip of coffee and muttered with irritation, "What's so remarkable about that?"

She glanced up at him then. "Well the front man ratted them all out to the law in San Antonio, and then ran off with all the money, that's what."

Doc shrugged setting down his cup. "Maybe he didn't like the way they were doin' business."

"Very funny, curly." She looked back down at the paper, failing to notice his lack of humor regarding the subject. "Says here he made off with better than five thousand dollars."

"Good thing for him his partners are in jail."

"Well Doc, he's gonna be in for one helluva surprise somewhere down the road because they're not. Seems the sheriff in San Antone didn't have enough evidence against them to keep them locked up and he had to let them go. They're probably chasin' this guy down as we speak..."

Doc glanced at his watch then, and quickly stood up, putting his hat on his head. "Oh gosh, I didn't realize it was so late, I've gotta get going on my calls..."

Kitty looked up at the clock on the wall, and then at him. "Doc, it's barely 7:30 in the morning..."

He fidgeted slightly with the brim of his hat. "Well, I gotta check my bag and make sure it has everything I might need and I have to hitch up my horse and buggy ya know..."

Without another word, Doc Adams ducked quickly out the batwing doors. Kitty glanced over at Sam, laughing slightly. "Now what do you suppose _that_ was all about?"

Sam shook his head grinning. "Maybe he remembered somebody owes him some money!"

Kitty giggled as she took a sip of coffee. "Poor ol' doc, he works so hard, and it seems like he barely ever has two dimes to rub together, so I hope you're right, Sam!"

* * *

Doc glared at the telegraph operator. "Are you sure there's nothing for me?"

"Yeah, Doc, I'm sure there ain't nothin' for you."

Barney watched as Doc stomped out the door heading toward the post office, and he smiled: better Pete deal with the old rooster than him.

* * *

Pete looked up into the irritated face of Doc Adams and braced himself for whatever was coming down the pike.

"I need my mail."

"You ain't got any, Doc."

"Whaddya mean I ain't got any?" Adams roared.

"Well, there ain't no mail for you, Doc, that's what I mean."

"There has to be, check again."

Pete looked down for a minute, shuffling through some envelopes, then back up at the physician. "There isn't any." He stared into the doctor's worried eyes and relented slightly. "If you tell me where you're expecting it from, I'll keep an eye out and be sure to get it to you quick, Doc."

Adams' voice softened, "I don't know where it's comin' from..."

"If ya don't know where it's comin' from, how do ya know to expect any?"

"Because I know," Adams bellowed. He swiped an angry hand over his mustache. "Oh, never mind!"

Pete shook his head as Adams stormed out. He turned to his assistant and muttered, "Chester is right; he's gettin' more grumpy every day..."

* * *

Joe held a small pad of paper and his pen at the ready. "What'll you have?" He asked the man.

"Steak and eggs, plate of flapjacks and a pot of coffee." Joe wrote it down and stared at the man for a moment. "What?" The man asked, slightly annoyed.

"Nothin' I guess...you been in Dodge before, mister?"

"No."

"Oh. You sure seem familiar..."

"Well, I've never been here before."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Kitty noticed him as soon as he entered the saloon, and watched him saunter to the bar and order a shot of whiskey. Standing a few inches shorter than Sam, she guessed his height to be around 6'2". He cut a well-muscled figure in the tight black pants and frock coat he was wearing, and the black hat with its medium brim and flat crown was typical enough of a gambler. He appeared to be in his early-to-mid 40s and still quite good-looking, with a lot of thick, curly, dark hair which was just starting to show some white strands. She noticed his strong, large hands and how gracefully they moved, and an odd sensation streamed through her, but she couldn't place what had caused it.

Curiosity filled her, and she walked over to the tall newcomer. "Afternoon, stranger...I'm Kitty Russell; I own the Longbranch."

He removed his hat, nodding his head, a charming smile curving his lips. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Russell. My name is Charles."

"Charles...?"

His smile was quaintly sincere and there was a kindness about it that was very attractive. "Just Charles, ma'am."

"All right, where are you from, Charles?"

His light blue eyes twinkled at her in amusement. "Down Texas way, ma'am."

"You don't sound Texan..."

"No ma'am. I'm originally from the East."

His dark curly hair framed broad cheeks and a square jaw, with dark eyebrows that managed to highlight the brightness of his baby blue eyes. The odd sensation returned, racing through her like a speeding train; there was something about him, but she just couldn't put her finger on it. And then she realized that she was staring at him.

"Oh, my, I apologize Charles, I didn't mean to stare at you...it's just that--"

"--I remind you of someone?"

Her eyes darted to his, surprised at his uncanny ability to read her mind. "Yes, you do, but I can't place it..." She grinned at him. "Are you a gambler?"

He smiled widely. "Sometimes."

"There's usually a game or two in the evenings. But I should tell you, we only allow fair games at the Longbranch. No dealing from the bottom of the deck; no counting cards; and no gunfights if a disagreement occurs."

He placed one of his strong hands gallantly over his heart as he vowed, "I wouldn't dream of it, Miss Russell." He looked deeply into her crystal blue eyes then, and Kitty felt her cheeks flushing with color. "Do all of your customers receive so much personal attention?"

She laughed, blushing even more. "No," she admitted, "just the handsome ones..." And her eyes spotted the saloon doors swinging as Doc Adams walked in. "And speaking of handsome customers," she glanced back at the newcomer, "I have to see to one right now, if you'll excuse me, Charles."

He followed her gaze and felt his jaw clench. "Certainly, Miss Russell," he said. Kitty didn't notice him flinch slightly before turning back toward the bar and his drink.

She moved over to Doc, taking his arm. "Are you in a better mood this afternoon, curly?"

"What're you tryin' to say, that I was in a foul one this morning?"

"Well, you weren't exactly easy to get along with, Doc."

"Oh I wasn't, huh?"

"No." He looked slightly hurt by her playful candor and she pat his arm. "Sit down and let me buy you a drink, handsome."

"All right," he smiled, "I will."

He sat in a chair and she called over to Noonan, "Sam, two whiskeys..."

But when she turned back to Doc, he was staring intently at the bar. She glanced over her own shoulder and realized he was staring at Charles. "Do you know that man at the bar, Doc?"

"What?" He stared at her blankly for a second then quickly added, "Uh, no."

Sam set the glasses down and Doc gulped a mouthful of whiskey. Kitty brushed an errant curl from his forehead. "Doc? You okay?"

"Yeah," he answered brusquely; but seeing the concern in her eyes, he added softly, "Just had a rough day, that's all..."

Kitty frowned slightly, but from past experience, knew better than to push the old physician. Instead, she entwined her fingers through the wavy hair on the back of his head, gently brushing through the thick curls.

"Doc, maybe you should take a day off and go fishing. It would do you good to relax a little."

He looked up at her then, and she noticed the deep worry lining his pale blue eyes. "I've got too much to do here, Kitty." He pat her arm. "There's nothing to be concerned about, I'm fine."

Sensing the lie, she untangled her fingers from the thick waves and stroked her hand over the back of his head. "You know you can always talk to me, don't you, Doc?"

He nodded, downed the rest of his drink and stood, patting her softly on the back. "I'll see you tomorrow, honey, I'm headin' back to the office." He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "Just don't you worry..."

She watched Doc amble out of the saloon, gaining no confidence from his reassurance. She glanced back toward the man who called himself Charles, and decided that keeping an eye on him was a good idea.

* * *

She silently observed the poker game from behind the bar. Charles had been cleaning Jake Worth's clock for more than three hours, and if he was cheating, Kitty couldn't catch him at it.

Sam leaned toward her as he wiped down a glass. "He's one of the smoothest I've seen in a long time."

"Yeah...I'll be damned if I can spot any sleight of hand."

"He's almost as good as you are..."

Her eyes darted to Sam's dark ones and he winked at her. She smiled then, shaking her head. "It's a good thing for you that I'm so fond of you, Sam Noonan."

"Yes ma'am," Sam answered, smiling.

She swatted him with a bar towel. "Oh, go on!"

* * *

Adams couldn't force his mind to focus on the article written by Dr. A.J. Bloch in New Orleans, anymore than he could keep the anger he was feeling from churning up his stomach. His right hand reached under his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he let out a long sigh of air. He hadn't seen Charlie in almost 25 years: but he knew why he'd shown up now, and it galled him at the very least. He ran his right hand through his thick hair and then yanked off his glasses, tossing them onto the journal which now lay on his desk. Doc stared into the nothingness of the wall, unable to fathom why Charlie's life had turned out the way it did - the waste of it made him angry.

He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest: it was just a matter of time before Charlie's heavy footsteps would come up his staircase. All he had to do was sit and wait...

* * *

Stuffing the money he'd just won from Jake Worth and the three cowboys at the table into his pockets, Charles stood, downing the last of the liquid in his glass. Kitty noted with some amusement that many of the girls had stayed late to watch the outcome of the game; but the saloon owner knew damned well it wasn't the game they'd been watching. The tall man turned to each of them to say good night, smiling sweetly, whispering in each girl's ear.

Sam leaned down toward his boss, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "I hadn't realized I was in the presence of the legendary Don Juan..."

Kitty smiled at him. "I hate to admit it Sam, but as a woman, I have to say that Charles is very attractive, and quite charming."

The bartender grunted in disapproval before turning to continue cleaning the bar. Kitty smiled at him, then returned her attention back toward the poker table which was breaking up for the night. As the losers cleared out and the girls dispersed, Charles picked up the half-empty bottle of whiskey and walked toward Kitty with it.

"Miss Russell, care for a nightcap?"

She smiled at him. "No thanks, Charles."

His disarming grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "Very well then, perhaps tomorrow night..."

"Anything's possible," Kitty responded dryly.

The sparkling light blue eyes twinkled at her playfully, sending a shimmer of familiarity through her. "I do love an honest woman, Miss Russell."

She laughed then. "I'm sure you do, Charles, but I'm not so sure you realize what or who you'd be gettin' into..."

He put his strong, thick right hand over his heart in mock sadness. "It wounds me to think that you're spoken for... Just who is the lucky gentleman, hmm?"

She smiled into the soft blue eyes that she found disturbingly comfortable. "Good night, Charles..."

He bowed ever so slightly at her, put his hat on, and headed toward the door. "Good night sweet lady..." He glanced at Sam, smiling. "'Night Sam."

The bartender nodded at him, and Charles slipped out the door. Noonan turned to face Kitty. "There's something about that man..."

"Yeah, Sam, I know what you mean. He's terribly familiar, yet I'm sure he's never been here before."

"Are you positive he hasn't been in here before?"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure." He stared at her then, an eyebrow arching up, and she explained, "Sam, a woman doesn't forget a man like that, even if she has no interest in him."

He smiled at her. "Yes ma'am."

Her eyes trailed the gambler's wake. "There is something in those eyes and that grin that just makes me feel like I know him though..."

Both Kitty and Sam returned their attention to the work of closing up for the night. It had been a long day.

* * *

Hands shoved deeply into his pockets, Charles ambled up Front Street toward the Dodge House, unaware that he was being watched. He glanced up at the second floor of the general store as he passed by, noting that there was light coming from the front window. He stopped for a moment, contemplating a late night visit; but his business with the good doctor could wait: there was no sense in ruining a perfectly good night's sleep. He walked toward the hotel, and was startled when he was pulled into an alley by a strong arm.

The man shoved him into the wall and slugged him across the jaw. A second man punched him twice in the midsection, causing him to bend over, grunting in pain. He felt a board or club strike his lower right back, and he cried out in distress. As he reared up to take a swing at one of the men, he heard the cocking of a pistol trigger, and he froze. He tried to see the faces of his attackers, but the alley was too dark to make out any features.

"Give us yer money," a man's voice demanded.

"I don't suppose it would do any good to tell you I haven't got any..."

A fist slammed into his back again, and he gasped for air. "Don't get funny, just hand it over."

"It's in my breast pocket..."

Charles started to reach for it, but the smaller of the two men slapped his hand down and reached into his jacket, pulling out the billfold. He removed the cash from the wallet and threw the leather folder down to the ground. The taller man holstered his gun and for good measure, pounded his right fist across Charles' cheek, and the large man fell to his knees. The smaller assailant grabbed him by his thick, dark hair and landed another punch to his head, and Charles felt lightheaded from the strength of it.

"It'd be best if you kept yer mouth shut about this, gamblin' man..."

And then Charles placed the voices: it was two of the men he'd just played poker with at the Longbranch. The larger man slugged him once more in the face before the two men quickly took off down the alley, disappearing into the night. Slowly Charles reached over for his wallet, and then using the wall as a balance, painfully pulled himself upright. He pushed away from the brick and staggered out from the alley, and Sam Noonan saw him as he was leaving the Longbranch for the night.

Noonan ran to the injured man. "Charles...what happened?"

"I'm afraid two of the gentleman I was playing poker with are not graceful losers..."

Sam examined the man's face and could see the swelling and bruises. "Come on, I'll take you up to Doc's, he should--"

"--No," Charles said sternly. Then embarrassed by his own curtness, he softened his timbre, "I'm fine, Sam, really. But I thank you for your concern."

Noonan didn't let go of the gambler, and started moving him in the direction of the doctor's office. "Charles, you've been beat up pretty bad, so don't argue about it, and don't worry about the fee...if you can't pay it tonight because those fellas took your money, Doc won't give you a bad time about it. You can pay him later when you've got it."

"You sound awfully sure of that."

"Ol' Doc don't care so much about money; he tends anyone who needs his help."

Charles looked into Sam's dark eyes. "You put a lot of stock into that old sawbones, don't you?"

"Everyone in Dodge does, now come on..."

* * *

He heard the heavy footfalls on the staircase outside and frowned: instead of one man, it was two. The door opened a moment later, and Doc stood quickly to help Sam guide Charles toward the exam table. The tall stranger sat on the edge of the table and stared into Doc's pale eyes. Sam observed the odd look that passed between the two men, and placed a protective hand on Adams' shoulder.

"Want me to stay and help, Doc?"

"No Sam, I'll be fine. Thanks."

Noonan headed toward the door. "If you need anything, Doc, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks, Sam."

"Good-night Sam," Charles said before the barkeep closed the door behind him.

The two men stared at each other without saying a word for a long moment, then Doc shook his head, put his hands on either side of the tall man's face and examined the swelling and bruises.

"Did you start the brawl, or finish it?"

"Neither," Charles said, his voice carrying more than just a hint of annoyance. "I was attacked in an alley and robbed of my poker winnings."

Doc began cleaning the cuts on the man's face with alcohol. "That yer way of tellin' me you ain't gonna pay me?"

"It's just the truth of what happened."

Adams stopped for a moment and glared into the younger man's light blue eyes. "The truth?" Doc grunted. "That's a foreign object in your mouth..."

Charles swatted away the strong hand gently tending his injuries. "It wasn't my idea to come up here, so just forget about the lectures..."

"And I suppose it wasn't yer idea to come to Dodge neither..."

He glared darkly into the small doctor's eyes. "Obviously _that_ was a mistake," Charles ground out as he tried to get off the table.

Adams held him down. "You just hold on a minute. Nobody said you weren't welcome here..."

The younger man softened, his voice turning vulnerable, "I didn't know where else to go."

Doc ran his hands down the man's chest, pressing on his ribs, but they weren't broken. "Why didn't you just send a letter or telegram like you always do when you need bailin' out?"

"That's not fair--"

"--Oh isn't it? Since you were twenty years old, I've been pullin' you out of one scrape after another, but I only hear from you when you need me - or rather, my money." Doc reached under Charlie's jacket and around his back, and the man howled in pain when the doctor lightly touched the area above his right kidney. A frown of worry darkened Adams' eyes and his voice filled with tenderness, "That hurt bad?"

Charles nodded, wincing. "Bad enough."

And Doc felt the familiar welling up of emotion in his throat as he looked deeply into the pale blue eyes so like his own. He cupped the side of his man's face with a gentle hand, his voice soft with both sincerity and guilt, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you..."

"I know that, big brother." Charles smiled then, trying to lighten the air in the room. "You look old, Galen..."

Doc playfully patted his brother's cheek. "So do you after twenty-five years, Charlie." Adams removed his brother's jacket, and untucked and lifted his shirt, examining his lower back. He gently pressed on the discolored area, and his brother grimaced in pain. "What did they hit you with?"

"Don't know, felt like a board or a club or something," Charles answered through the pain.

"You're pretty badly bruised back here, might have damaged the organ. I'm gonna want ya to lie quiet fer a few days, and let that kidney heal."

"Wasn't plannin' on bein' here that long, Galen."

Adams moved around to face his brother. "What'd you come here for, Charlie? I know it wasn't money this time, at least not if the papers got it right."

Charlie hated seeing the color of disappointment in his older brother's eyes, and he looked away under their scrutiny. "No, it wasn't for money."

"What, then?"

His eyes raised to meet Doc's. "I need a death certificate."

"What?"

"I want you to make out a death certificate with my name on it. If they think I'm dead, they'll stop lookin'..."

Doc paced away, squeezing his neck muscles with his right hand. "Charlie, I...I can't do that..."

"_Please_." Shaking from pain and exhaustion, he stepped off the table with great effort, and came up behind his much smaller, older brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Lenny, you don't know these men; they'll kill me."

Doc frowned at the family nickname; he often wondered why his parents had named him Galen only to call him Len or Lenny for short. He glared at his brother, his feathers now very ruffled.

"You're asking me to violate an oath and ethics that are very sacred to me, Charlie."

"I'm asking you to save my life, big brother."

The beating his body took caught up with him then, and Charlie groaned with exhaustion. Doc gently eased him back onto the exam table, carefully lying him down. "Let's talk about this in the morning. Right now, I want you to get some rest." Adams removed his brother's shoes, and then unbuttoned the top half of his shirt. He pulled a blanket from a nearby cabinet and tenderly covered Charlie with it. "Do you need something to help you sleep?"

Charlie shook his head, but grabbed his older brother's muscular hand in his own. "I'm sorry, Len, I know I've been a disappointment to you."

"That's not true, Charlie. I just wish you'd made other choices in your life."

"Yeah, like bein' a lawyer; that's what ma always said pop wanted for me." He looked into his brother's soft eyes. "But I didn't know pop: you were the only father I ever knew. You were the one who took care of the family; you were the one who took care of me. And you always told me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up."

"I just meant you didn't have to be a lawyer, Charlie."

"But you became a doctor, exactly like the family wanted. You've always done what's expected of you, haven't you?"

Doc shrugged, letting go of his brother's hand. "My responsibilities were always different than yours." A sharp pain stabbed Charlie in the kidney and he groaned, reaching for his back. Doc's voice and demeanor softened immediately, whether out of habit or guilt he didn't know. "Here now, you let me take care of that..."

Doc went to a cabinet and extracted a jar of salve. He scooped some of it into his right hand, then gently rolled his brother on his left side, pulled down the blanket and lifted his shirt. Doc softly rubbed his hand over the bruised kidney, sending a soothing warmth through Charlie's back.

"It aches awful bad, Len..."

Adams lightened his touch a little, allowing the salve to do most of the work. "Try and relax, Charlie. I want you to get some sleep."

After a few minutes of Doc's gentle attention, the heaviness in the younger Adams' voice was apparent, "Lenny?"

"Mmm-hmmm?"

"Please don't let them find me..."

Adams brushed a comforting hand over his younger brother's forehead. "Don't you worry, baby boy, I couldn't stop protecting you even if I wanted to..." Doc's voice diminished to a whisper, "I simply wouldn't know how."

The younger Adams dropped off to sleep, and Doc covered him with the blanket. He blew out all the lanterns but the one by the exam table, which he lowered, then he pulled a chair close by and sat down. Doc leaned over and gently rolled Charlie onto his back, being careful not to wake him. The old physician brushed a soft hand through his brother's thick hair, smiling at the fact that Charlie hadn't begun to lose any; Galen knew _that_ was only a matter of time. The smile disappeared as he wondered how much of Charlie's recklessness was because his older brother had spoiled him. Adams smiled ruefully; there was no defense for it except that he loved his little brother very deeply, and he had always accepted the fact that Charlie was his responsibility.

Doc reached over and placed his hand on top of his brother's, his eyes welling up with emotion. "You'll never know how I've missed you, Charlie," he whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

Kitty opened the door to Doc's office, and seeing that both Doc and his patient were asleep, she quietly walked in, closing the door behind her. She silently observed the two men, and suddenly it hit her why Charles had seemed so familiar. She swallowed down the surprise in her throat and stood behind Doc's chair for a moment, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his back.

She put her hands on Doc's shoulders and leaned into his ear, whispering softly, "Doc? Hey Doc..."

"Mmmmm..."

She gently pulled him toward her, allowing him to fall softly back into his chair, his head rolling heavily against her. She kissed the top of his brow. "Rise and shine, handsome..."

He looked up at her, the sleep in his pale blue eyes making them appear even softer than usual. "Kitty...what time is it?"

"Almost eight in the morning. Sam told me what happened last night, and I wanted to come over and make sure everything was all right."

He straightened up, shaking free of her grip. "Everything's fine." He stood then, heading toward the stove, his voice softening, "Want some coffee if I make a pot?"

"Sure, Doc." She observed him as he put the fixings for coffee in a pot and then lit the stove. He turned to her, leaning against the cold part of the stove, putting both his hands in his pockets. He seemed uneasy. "You okay, curly?"

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"

She glanced over at the middle-aged man on the table and then stared meaningfully into Doc's eyes. "Anything you wanna tell me?"

"No," he grumbled, "not really."

Kitty walked over to him, stopping close enough to make him uncomfortable. She cupped her hands on both of his cheeks, catching his eyes with hers. "Who is he?"

His soft eyes moistened with vulnerability, before he finally said, "My younger brother."

"I never knew you had one," she replied with irritation.

He shrugged. "Never came up, I guess." Trying to lighten the awkward air between them, Doc nodded over at the sleeping man and smiled slightly. "He got all the height in the family," an impish grin pulled at his lips then, "but I got all the good looks."

Kitty couldn't help but laugh. "For the ugly duckling, he sure had more than his share of the girls hangin' all over him last night."

"I never said he didn't inherit the Adams family charm..."

She smiled at him, but her eyes turned dark with concern. "You've never so much as mentioned this charming brother of yours and suddenly he shows up in Dodge..."

He broke away from her and walked over to the exam table, adjusting the blanket covering Charlie. "He's just visiting..."

Kitty could sense the lie. "For as long as I've known you, I've never seen him, you've never mentioned him, and now he's here for a visit..." Adams brushed his fingers through Charlie's tangled curls, and it struck her that Doc approached Charlie more like a father would a son rather than an older brother. "How much younger is he, Doc?"

"Twelve years," Adams answered as he tenderly tucked his younger brother's hand under the blanket. "Pop died when Charlie was just a year old..."

"And you've been taking care of him ever since..."

He looked up at her sharply. "He was just a baby, and mom had her hands full with three kids and no husband."

Kitty went to him, running her fingers through his hair as he'd done his brother's. "You don't have to defend it, Doc. I wasn't accusing you of anything."

His eyes darted to hers. "I'm sorry, honey. I know you weren't." He smiled slightly. "I've always been overprotective, and I guess some part of me isn't so sure it was the best thing for him." Charlie moaned in pain then, and Adams put a warm hand on his brother's chest, brushing his other softly over his brow. "Shhhh...easy Charlie. I'm here."

"Lenny?"

"Mmm-hmm," Adams soothed, "I'm right here."

Charlie gripped Doc's hand tightly. "My back's hurtin' awful bad..."

Adams reached over to a small table, retrieving the open bottle of laudanum. He lifted Charlie's head and poured a little into his mouth. "It'll feel better in a minute."

Charlie's eyes fluttered closed, and once again Doc tucked his hand under the blanket. The coffee began to boil then and he walked over to the stove, pulling the pot off the heat with a towel in his hand. Kitty followed him and stood close.

Her lips curved into a wicked smile. "_Lenny_?"

He glared at her. "Oh hush up..." She stared into his eyes and he heaved a sigh. "It's a family nickname." His eyes narrowed in warning. "And if I ever hear it used by anyone in Dodge, they'll be hell to pay, little miss!"

Kitty laughed softly. "I don't know how to tell you this Doc, but you just don't scare me."

"That's the hazard of having this handsome face..." He winked at her, smiling.

"Hurry up and pour the coffee, I need somethin' to wash all this down with if I'm expected to swallow it..."

His brow furrowed slightly, but instead of trying to outwit her, Doc simply did as she asked.

* * *

Matt and Doc carefully lowered Charlie's body down on Doc's bed, and the small physician covered his brother with a blanket.

"Thanks for the help, Matt. Thanks an awful lot. I couldn't have managed him by myself."

The tall marshall looked down at Adams. "Is he going to be all right?"

Doc nodded. "Yes, with some rest. His right kidney took a beating, and that ain't nothin' to fool with."

Matt swallowed, contemplating how to approach the subject foremost on his mind. "Your brother told you it was two of the men he was playing poker with who robbed him?"

Doc nodded. "That's what he said."

"But he didn't mention any names..."

"No," Doc snapped, "but I imagine someone at the Longbranch might know if you bothered to ask around." The two men stared awkwardly at each other, and Adams' eyes darted away, as he muttered, "I'm sorry, Matt, that was unfair."

Dillon let the guilt lie for a moment then asked, "Is he a gambler by profession?" Doc nodded so Matt continued, "Why haven't you ever mentioned him, Doc?"

The small physician growled, "My brother and I have been estranged for a long time, I didn't see any reason to mention him."

His suspicion aroused, Dillon said, "So what brings him to Dodge now?"

"Just passin' through," Adams answered curtly.

Matt's eyes narrowed at the lie. "Just passing through? Doc--"

"--Look Matt, if you wanna continue interrogatin' me, make an appointment! I've got work to do!"

Doc stormed from the room, and Dillon stared at the younger Adams for a moment, noting the strong family resemblance between him and Doc. He frowned; something didn't sit right. Matt could sense that Doc was holding back, or possibly covering for his brother somehow - but for what reason? Dillon followed Doc's angry wake into the office, closing the bedroom door behind him. He observed in silence as Adams angrily shoved supplies into his medical bag, ignoring the lawman's continued presence.

"I'm sorry if it felt like an interrogation, Doc," Matt quietly said, "it's just that your brother's existence came as something of a surprise, and I was a little curious; that, and I'd like to get his poker winnings back for him if I can."

Doc's voice was cool, "You were just doin' your job, is that it?"

Dillon shrugged slightly. "Yeah, that was it."

"Don't bother. Charlie will probably leave Dodge as soon as he's well enough to sit a horse."

Dillon's eyes flashed suspicion. "I'd think that the two of you would have some catching up to do after so many years apart..."

Adams whirled around to face Matt, his eyes flushed with anger. "My relationship with my brother is my business." After a moment, Doc turned back around, continuing to stock his bag. "If that's all, I have work to do..."

Dillon heaved a sigh, picked up his hat from Doc's desk and put it on as he headed for the door. "All right, Doc. If you need anything though, or if your brother remembers something about the men, you know where to find me."

When Adams didn't answer, Matt walked out the door, closing it harder than necessary behind him.

* * *

"He's hidin' something, I know it," Matt said as he agitatedly paced the inside of Kitty's room.

"Now Matt, I don't think we should jump to conclusions."

Dillon stopped walking and faced her, his hands on his hips. "Are you going to stand there and tell me you're buying the 'my brother is just passing through although we've been estranged for many years' story?"

Kitty licked her lips. "Well, not exactly, but I figure whatever problem there is between them, they've got to settle it, and Matt, I'm not so sure it's any of our business."

He glared at her. "If it's potentially hurtful to Doc, then it sure as hell is our business."

Kitty stared at him, hard. "What makes you think Charlie's gonna hurt Doc?"

Matt began pacing again, his agitation coloring his face. "Call it a gut feeling. Call it many years of wearin' a badge and listening to my instincts. Call it whatever you want, Kitty, but it's gnawing at me."

"Yes, I can see that," she said simply.

He stopped moving and once again stood in front of her. "Look, I can't explain it, but the whole thing just doesn't sit right with me. It's obvious when you see him with his brother that Doc cares for him deeply, and yet he's never mentioned him. Not once, even in passing."

"So?"

"So that just isn't normal."

"Oh Matt, you know how secretive Doc can be about his personal life." She smiled slightly. "Sometimes I think it's because he likes to create an air of mystery about him, but mostly I think he keeps his emotions close because he views them as a weakness."

Matt shrugged. "Well, whatever the reason, I don't have a good feeling about his brother. I think he's trouble."

"Shame on you!" Kitty scolded. "You have absolutely nothing to base that on. The man was robbed of some poker winnings, that's all."

But Dillon couldn't shake the grawing sense that something about Charlie Adams was all wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie groaned and Doc moved from the chair he was sitting vigil in to the edge of the bed. He set a soft hand on his younger brother's chest.

"Charlie? How do you feel?"

The pale blue eyes so much like Doc's flickered open and blinked sleepily at his older brother. "A little better, Len. Whatever you've been givin' me seems to be doin' the trick."

Doc leaned toward the small nightstand and pulled his stethoscope from his bag, shoving the buds in his ears. He pulled open Charlie's nightshirt and listened to his heart for a minute or so, then placed a hand on his younger brother's wrist, while looking at his pocket watch. He tossed the stethoscope back into his bag and smiled at the younger Adams.

"You're better, which means I'm going to want you to eat a little something for me in awhile."

Charlie made a slight face. "Not sure I'm well enough to eat your cookin' Lenny..."

Doc glared at his younger brother. "Who said anything about me cookin' for the likes of you? I was planning on getting you some soup from Delmonico's."

"Well in that case, big brother, I suppose I could manage a bowl or two."

"One for a start. Now roll onto your side fer me, I wanna check that bruise over your kidney."

Charlie sighed but complied with the request, rolling onto his left side, allowing Galen access to his lower back. Doc lifted the nightshirt and examined the bruised area, gently prodding different parts of it to see how sensitive it still was; and not surprisingly, it was very sore, evidenced by Charlie's grimaces and sharp intakes of breath caused by the movements of Doc's fingers.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," Doc's deep voice whispered, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," came the tight response.

"Lie on your tummy fer me."

Charlie slowly rolled onto his stomach, and Doc pulled the jar of salve from the nightstand. The surgeon scooped up a handful of it, and rubbed it into the tender area of his brother's back. After some initial moans of pain, the warmth of Doc's hands combined with the herbs in the salve began to bring relief, and Charlie started to relax.

The younger man's voice was low, "This reminds me of when I was little and couldn't sleep." He heaved a slow sigh of air before continuing, "Mama used to get so mad at me..."

Doc smiled slightly at the memory. "I never had any trouble getting you to sleep." With the memory, Doc's hands began to massage his brother's back in the same soothing motions they had when Charlie was a child. "You just needed to know you weren't alone."

Charlie's voice was a sleepy whisper, "You were the only person I could count on, Len."

"Hush now, baby boy, and go to sleep. Your body needs the rest."

Doc continued to rub his brother's back lightly, until Charlie lapsed into a slow, rhythmic breathing, then gently, Doc pulled down his nightshirt and pulled up the covers. The physician settled back into the chair by the bed, allowing his thoughts to retrace the tethers of his early life; a life ruled by responsibility...

"_Lenny!" His mother's voice called, "Come here right this minute!"_

_The small but well-muscled young man appeared in the doorway of the living room. "Yes mother?"_

"_Get over here, young man."_

"_Yes mama?"_

"_What are you doing right now?"_

"_I'm studying for my science test tomorrow."_

"_And your chores?"_

"_They're finished, ma'am."_

_The diminutive woman with graying hair and more wrinkles than a forty-four year old should have, allowed her tone to turn caustic. "Really?"_

"_Yes ma'am. I milked the cows, fed the pigs and chickens, cut the wheat stalks in the south field and stacked the windrows to dry." He stared into his mother's disappointed eyes and tried to think of what he might have forgotten, but he couldn't come up with anything. Finally he said in a small voice, "Was it the wrong field? Was I supposed to cut the wheat from a different field today?"_

"_No Galen, you did exactly what was on your chore list."_

_The boy frowned, not understanding the problem. "Then what's wrong, mama?"_

_She grabbed the boy by the shoulders and pulled him toward the window, pulling aside the curtains. She pointed toward the barn door. "What do you see, Galen?"_

_His eyes followed her angry finger and realized his mistake as he watched Charlie happily yanking out the windrows from the barn, tossing the individual stalks into the air and swatting them with a stick, sending the kernels flying all over the ground. The chickens followed the five-year old all around the yard, greedily pecking at all the wheat kernels left in the child's wake. Galen swallowed hard, fear rising quickly into his throat._

"_Oh Charlie," he muttered. "I'm sorry, mama, he doesn't mean any harm, you know that, he's just a little boy is all. I'll take care of it right away!"_

_He started for the door, but his mother grabbed his sleeve, yanking him back around to face her. "Not so fast, Galen. How many times must we go on about this? Charlie is _your_ responsibility. I cannot take in laundry, sew dresses, drapes and tablecloths for customers, get meals on the table _and_ watch a five-year old all at the same time. If your father was here, things would be different, but he's not; _you_ are the man of the house, Galen, and I need you to not only pull your own weight, but also take on extra chores."_

"_I know that, mama, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose track of him, really I didn't."_

"_Galen, I know your studies are important to you, they were important to your father, but we can't allow them to interfere with the survival of this family."_

"_It won't happen again, mama, I promise." He looked at her, his pale blue eyes shining in fear. "Please, I can watch Charlie, harvest the wheat and take care of the animals and still study. I really can, mama--"_

"_--This is the second time this week that you've forgotten about Charlie," Gladys gloated from the table where she was repairing old woman Nelson's tablecloth. "I don't think he can handle all the responsitility, mama, I really don't." She looked over at her younger brother, a victorious smile plastered on her lips. "It's too much for you, Lenny, why don't you just admit that becoming a doctor was papa's dream for you, and you simply can't live up to it."_

"_Take that back, Gladys! You take that back right this minute!" Galen's voice began to rise in pitch, still not fully changed at seventeen, "I can so live up to it. Pop knew it, and so do you. You're just jealous!"_

"_That's enough, Galen," his mother interrupted, "you apologize to your sister right now, young man."_

"_You always take her side, mama..."_

"_Because I'm right, Lenny, and you're wrong!" Gladys glared at her younger brother. "I'm waiting, mama told you to apologize!"_

"_I will not. If I'm the man of the house, then I'm not going to put up with Gladys talking to me like that, damnit--"_

_His mother's hand striking his cheek stopped him in mid-sentence. "How dare you blaspheme in this house, Galen Adams. If your father was here he'd take you out in the barn and give you a beating you'd never forget. I'm tired of you spoiling your younger brother. He's five years old and it's time for him to face up to his own chores instead of simply going to school during the day and playing outside until it's dark." His eyes darted to hers and she glowered. "Oh yes, I know you've been doing Charlie's chores in addition to your own. You have spoiled that boy something awful, Galen Adams, and you're not doing him any favors. Sooner or later he's got to grow up."_

_And in that moment Galen understood why he always felt a need to shelter his brother. "He's five years old, mama," he said in a quiet voice, "this is the only childhood he'll ever have; I don't want it taken away from him because you resent him."_

"_What did you say to me?"_

"_That you resent Charlie."_

"_How dare you speak of things you couldn't possibly understand."_

"_Why not, mama? If I'm old enough to take on my father's responsibilities then I'm old enough to say what I see. You resent Charlie because he lived and pop didn't."_

_Ruth Adams glared at her older son. "If Charlie hadn't been playing so close to the edge of the river, he wouldn't have fallen in, and your father wouldn't have gone in after him; he wouldn't have caught pneumonia and he wouldn't have died." Tears filled her eyes, but none dared to fall. "Why did it have to be Joe? We needed him; I needed him... Why couldn't it have been Charlie?"_

_Her words made Galen sick; his own mother was wishing that her youngest son had died. "It wasn't Charlie's fault. He was just a baby. How could you say something like that, mama?"_

"_And what about you? You were supposed to be watching him that day!" Ruth turned her back to her son then, her voice shaking with rage, "Just get out to the barn and take care of him, Galen, and don't ever bring this up to me again." She whirled around to face him, the anger in her eyes scaring him. "Do you understand me?" He nodded numbly, and she moved closer to him. "If you ever do, Galen, I will send Charlie away, and you'll never see him again." She could easily see the terror filling the blue eyes at the thought of losing the little brother whom he adored. "Good, we understand each other then."_

"_Yes ma'am," he answered icily as he turned for the door._

"_And Galen..." He turned back to her and she hit him hard in the face with the handle of the broom that had been leaning against the table, cutting him just above his right eyebrow. "That's a reminder of the weight of your responsibilities. Don't slip up again, because I won't warn you a second time."_

_Galen stalked out the door, slamming it hard behind him. Not wanting his little brother to see him vulnerable and weak, he slipped around the back of the barn and sat on a bale of hay, tears running hot down his face. Poor little Charlie was not only growing up fatherless, resented by his mother, and ignored by his older sister, but he had only an inadequate older brother to protect him from the ugliness of the truth. Galen pulled his feet up onto the bale, burying his face into his knees, sobbing under the weight of his guilt. No matter how hard he might try, he couldn't make up for the lack of love that had been Charlie's lot thus far in life._

_The small hand tugging at his shirt, and the tiny voice made him start. "Lenny...Lenny, what's wrong?"_

_Galen looked up into the worried pale blue eyes so like his own, and he quickly wiped his eyes and face on his sleeve. "Nothing's wrong, Charlie..."_

"_Then why are you crying?"_

"_I...I wasn't crying, silly, I just got something in my eye is all."_

_Charlie touched the cut above his older brother's eye. "Must've been a big something..."_

_Galen reached up and wiped away the blood. "Yeah, I guess so." He looked at the worried face and lifted Charlie onto his lap. "Charlie, why in the world did you pull out all the windrows I stacked in the barn today?"_

_A smile lit his brother's lips. "I just wanted to see the kernels fly, Lenny! There were so many of 'em, you shoulda seen 'em! The chickens followed me all around the yard, you shoulda seen it!"_

"_I did, Charlie, I did."_

"_Why do you look so unhappy, Lenny?"_

"_Charlie, you're kind of a big boy now, aren'tcha?"_

_The five year old shrugged. "I guess so, why?"_

"_We can have a man-to-man talk, can't we?"_

"_Like what?"_

"_I sorta need your help, Charlie."_

"_Sure, Lenny, I'd do anything for you!"_

_Galen smiled at the beaming child in his lap, confident that Charlie meant it. "I know you would. Look, all I need you to do Charlie, is just try and stay outta stuff like the windrows. See, it took me several hours to get them stacked in the barn, and now I'm gonna have to restack them when I should be studying for my science exam."_

"_Gosh Lenny, I didn't mean nothin' by it."_

"Anything_, Charlie. You didn't mean _anything_ by it; and I know you didn't. You're just bein' your age, but that's where I need your help. When you're outside playing, it would really help me if you could play with things that I won't have to clean up or worry about later."_

"_Like what kinda things?"_

"_Like the swing on the tree or maybe play fetch with ol' Woodrow."_

"_Woodrow don't like ta play fetch no more, Lenny. He's too old!"_

"Doesn't_ like to play fetch _any_ more, Charlie."_

"_Why are you always doin' that, Lenny?"_

"_Because I want you to grow up to be a gentleman, Charlie, an educated, well-spoken gentleman."_

"_Mama never does it..."_

"_I know she doesn't, Charlie." Galen tossled the dark curls on the little boy's head. "But that's what big brothers are for, right?"_

"_I guess so."_

_Galen pulled Charlie into his chest and held him tightly for a moment, kissing the top of his head before letting him go because the little boy began to squirm. Charlie jumped down and Galen gently swatted his behind, smiling._

"_Go get cleaned up before dinner while I fix up the windrows. And Charlie... don't say anything to mama about our little talk, okay?"_

"_Why not, Lenny?"_

"_Because I want it to be between you and me. Now go on, baby boy, and try to stay out of trouble!"_

_Galen watched Charlie run off toward the house, and he once again felt the sting of tears: how was he going to be mother, father and brother to a little boy who deserved so much more love than he was receiving? He reached for the rag in his back pocket and dabbed away the blood above his eye. If it was the only thing he could do, Charlie would never know; no matter what the personal cost, Galen would protect his baby brother from the truth of their mother's hatred..._

Doc realized too late that his brother was staring at him. He wiped the tears that had dripped down his cheeks and tried to get up, but his little brother's hand restrained him.

"Galen? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Doc said as he tried to shake off his brother's grip.

"Galen..."

"It's nothing, Charlie, just some old memories."

Adams pushed up from the chair, and walked toward the door, but the anger in Charlie's voice stopped him. "Lenny, please don't do that."

Galen stopped but didn't turn back around. "Don't do what?"

"Shut me out." Charlie pulled himself out of bed and slowly moved to stand behind his older brother. "It's the same thing you used to do when I was little."

"Oh pshaw. I never did anything of the kind."

Doc started toward the door again, but Charlie's hand on his shoulder held him. "Yes you did. Every time mom blamed you for what I did, or hit you, or threatened to send me away, you shut me out just a little bit more."

Adams spun around to face his brother, shock coloring his face. "What?"

"Honestly Galen, as a doctor, I'd think you'd realize that children aren't immune to the hatred and resentment that surrounds them."

"Oh my God..." Tears rushed Doc's pale blue eyes. "You knew..."

"Yeah, I knew." Charlie turned and walked back toward the bed. "It was pretty obvious that mom didn't have the same warm feelings toward me that she had for you and Gladys. Even though she was rough on you, Galen, I knew she loved you." He turned to look his older brother in the eyes. "When I was really little I used to wonder why she never bothered to yell at me for anything I did, or tell me she was proud of me when I did something well; but as I got a little older, I realized it was because she just didn't care about me."

"Charlie, that's not true," Galen argued as he closed the gap between them. "Mom loved you just as much as me and Gladys--"

"--You're still doing it... you're still lying for her; still trying to make up for her resentment." Galen's eyes pierced his brother's in surprise. "Yes, I figured out by the time I was seven that she resented me for pop's death."

Doc's voice was soft, and full of sadness, "You never said a word."

Charlie shrugged, his voice pointed, "It didn't matter because my big brother was always there to protect me."

The sarcasm in Charlie's voice sent a pang of tightness through Doc's chest. "You sound as if you resent me for trying to shield you from it."

"I worshipped you, Lenny. You were smart, strong, handsome, and everyone in town loved you. I was your little brother, and I idolized you, but you raised me in a living lie."

And Doc felt the sting of utter failure. The secret that he wanted to protect his brother from ever discovering, Charlie had in fact lived with for most of his life. Galen had been unable to shield him from the truth of his mother's rejection, and in that failure, he had garnered only resentment from the little boy he loved so dearly. Doc tried to swallow down the guilt that was boiling in his belly, but when he spoke, the emotion bubbling just under the surface was apparent.

"Charlie, you've got to believe me when I tell you that everything I did, I did because I was trying to protect you. I never--" Galen looked away as his emotion overwhelmed him. "I never meant to hurt you. I love you, Charlie; I've always loved you."

Charlie grabbed his older brother's arms. "If what you're saying is true Galen, then protect me now." Doc's eyes flicked up to meet his little brother's. "These men from San Antonio, they'll kill me. If they find me, they'll kill me."

"I won't let anything happen to you, Charlie, you know that I won't."

"Then you'll make out a death certificate?"

Doc stepped away from his brother, his heart torn. "I can't, Charlie. I can't do that." He turned back to face him, cupping his taller, younger brother's face with his right hand. "I'll do anything else that I can to protect you, but I can't forsake the oath I swore when I became a doctor."

"Then that's it. I'm as good as dead."

"Charlie... the marshal in this town, Matt Dillon, he's a good friend. If we go to him, he'll help, I know that he will."

"Yeah, right after he locks me up and throws away the key." Doc frowned at his brother and Charlie sat down on the bed, suddenly tired. "I'm wanted in San Antone, Galen, I got out of there with better than $120,000 dollars..."

"And you ratted on your partners to do it." Charlie looked sharply at his brother. "It was in the papers, Charlie, although I would have prayed that you would never have stooped this low."

"Death or jail...neither option appeals to me, big brother."

Doc sighed, shaking his head. "Dear God, Charlie, how did it come to this?"

Charlie laughed. "You mean where did you go wrong in raising me, Galen?" Charlie shook his head, much as his older brother had only moments before. "You should have washed your hands of me when I was little, Len; it would have saved you a lot of grief and guilt, not to mention a lot of money over the years."

"How in the hell can you say something like that to me, Charlie?"

"It's just the truth of my life, Lenny. The plain, simple truth."

The elder Adams sat dejectedly in the chair by the bed and stared for a long moment into his brother's eyes before speaking. "The day you were born, I held you in my arms for the first time and knew you were a part of me, my baby brother. And I've loved you every day since." Doc's eyes filled with tears, and he took Charlie's hands in his own, his voice a bare whisper. "I used to sit by your cradle at night and watch you sleep. I'd watch the steady rise and fall of your chest so that I would know you were all right. I always felt that it was up to me to watch over you, to protect you, and to love you no matter what, and as God is my witness, Charlie, I have tried to do that."

"Where were you the day I fell into the river?"

Doc slammed his eyes shut, his head dropping down. He squeezed the large hands inside his own, and his voice wilted to a whisper. "I'm sorry..." Galen looked at his brother. "I froze, Charlie. You fell into the river, and I couldn't move. I felt pop run by me and saw him jump in after you, and all I could do was stand there, frozen in fear and guilt." Tears rolled down Galen's cheeks as his voice filled with reprehension, "It was my fault, I should have kept a closer eye on you. You almost died because of me, and pop...pop did die--"

A sob escaped Doc's lips and Charlie pulled his older brother into his arms. "Is that what mom told you, Len, that you were to blame? You were thirteen years old when that happened, and I wasn't your lookout."

"Yes," Doc whispered, "you were..." He pushed away from Charlie to look into his eyes. "You were just a baby, barely walking. I should have been paying more attention. It was my fault, and mom took it out on you."

The pale blue eyes filled with tears of sadness. "So all of it was out of your guilt? That's all I ever was to you, a burden of guilt..."

"No Charlie, and don't you ever say that." Doc put his hands on both sides of his brother's face. "Don't you ever say that because it's not true. I love you, baby boy, you've got to believe that." Charlie's tears dripped down his cheeks and as had always been the case, Doc couldn't stand to see his brother's pain. He pulled Charlie into him, holding him tightly and rocking him gently. "I won't let anything happen to you, Charlie, I promise you, I'll think of something."

Galen couldn't see the small smile that lit his younger brother's lips as he pressed his face into his older brother's chest. "You're the only one I could ever count on, Lenny, the only one I could ever trust..."

Doc kissed the top of his little brother's head as if Charlie was still five years old. He didn't know how he was going to keep the men from San Antonio from killing Charlie anymore than he knew how he would keep Matt Dillon from finding out about it and putting his little brother behind bars. But somehow he would find a way, no matter what the personal cost. He always had.


	4. Chapter 4

Weed Watkins looked out from under his wide-brimmed hat as the snow continued to filter down. "We'd better find some shelter for the night," he growled at the men with him.

"Over there looks like a good spot," Pablo Hecha answered, pointing toward a grove of large trees. "At least the trees will offer some shelter."

Weed nodded to the men and they headed toward the patch of Sycamores, anxious to build a fire and warm themselves after a long day of hard riding. About 30 minutes later, the five men sat down to a hot plate of beans and coffee, watching the snow cover the ground outside of the protection of the large trees.

"How far ya figure we got to still go, Weed?" Pete Sinclair asked.

Watkins glared in the smaller man's direction, shoving a spoonful of beans in his mouth as he answered, "'Nother day oughta do it."

"Won't be too soon for me," Johnny added, "a week in the saddle's enough for me!"

The men laughed until Weed growled at the young man, "Hush up, Johnny; it'll be worth it when we get our hands on all that money..."

"Not to mention the weasel who stole it," Bill added, "eh, Weed?"

Watkins smiled, his crooked and broken teeth looking even more sinister by firelight than they normally did. "By the time I'm finished with him, there ain't gonna be nothin' left."

Pete and Johnny busied themselves with their beans to avoid showing the fear Weed struck in their hearts; but Pablo and Bill laughed with Watkins for a long moment, enjoying the idea of revenge.

"What if you're wrong about where he went, Weed?" The Mexican asked carefully.

"I'm not." He stared hard into the hispanic's dark eyes. "Charlie has an older brother in Dodge; a brother who's bailed him out plenty over the years."

"Charlie don't need money, Weed--"

"--No kidding, Pete. It don't matter none. He knows we're lookin' for him, and he knows what we aim to do to him if we catch him. He'll run to his big brother, I'd put money on it."

Johnny looked up from his rapidly disappearing plate of beans. "I didn't know Charlie had no kin. He ain't never mentioned a brother..."

"He never talks about him much," Bill answered, "but Weed's right, Charlie'll run straight to that ol' sawbones brother of his."

Pete laughed. "Too bad for the ol' sawbones..."

"For once, Pete," Weed said, "I agree with you."

Weed took a long sip of hot coffee and contemplated exactly how he would make Charlie Adams pay for ratting them out to the law, and a small smile turned his lips; perhaps the old sawbones would be useful for something other than just helping them find Charlie...

* * *

"Are you sure that's all you can tell me?"

"I'm awful sorry, marshal," the big bartender said shaking his head, "but I didn't take that close a look at those fellas that night."

Matt glanced at the beautiful redhead next to him. "Kitty? You don't have anything to add?"

She shrugged. "Not really, Matt. Sam pretty much covered what either of us remembers of those men playing poker with Charlie that night. You know, he played with 'em for several hours, he oughta be able to tell you something about 'em."

"Yeah, if only his doctor would consent to letting me talk to him."

"Doc still hasn't let you see him?"

"Nope. He says his brother's too weak to be 'interrogated' by the likes of me..."

"Excuse me for sayin' it, marshal," Sam said, "but that doesn't sound like Doc."

"Well Sam, it does and it doesn't." Matt's lips pursed together for a moment before he continued, "Doc can be awfully cagey when he feels he needs to protect someone."

"I guess so, marshal, but why in the world would he need to protect Charlie from you?" Sam stood up then, "I'd better get back to work..."

Matt and Kitty watched Sam move over to the bar and then they looked at each other.

"Well Matt, Sam's got a point; what do you think it means?"

The big lawman shook his head slightly. "I can't say I really know, Kitty. Charlie's a victim of robbery, yet Doc's acting like I'm going to arrest him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time." There was an awkward pause before Dillon said, "Has Doc been around at all in the past few days?"

Kitty shook her head. "No. Ever since his brother blew into this town, Doc hasn't come over here once, and I haven't seen him out on the street either."

"Wonder if he's been makin' any calls," Dillon muttered aloud. "Did Charlie say anything to you about Doc when he was here that night?"

"Not a peep. He didn't mention anything about family in Dodge."

Matt shook his head in frustration. "It's a little too odd."

Kitty hated to admit it, but found she couldn't argue. "Yes, I'm afraid that it is."

Matt stood, putting his hat on his head. "Well, I guess I can't put this off any longer. I'd better go over there and have a talk with the two of them and get to the bottom of it."

"Matt? Tread lightly for Doc's sake, okay?"

"Always, Kitty, don't worry."

She watched the big man leave the Long Branch, and despite his promise to go easy on the old doctor, she couldn't keep her stomach from clenching in worry.

* * *

Doc squeezed his brother's shoulder lightly. "You look a lot better, Charlie," the old man smiled, "a lot better."

"I'm feelin' better, Len." Charlie's pale blue eyes sought his brother's. "Think I'll be fit to ride tomorrow?"

The smile on Doc's face fell. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Doc turned and moved away from his younger brother, but Charlie followed him to the far corner of the room, and stood in front of him, examining the sadness in Doc's eyes. "I'm sorry about all of it, Len... really I am."

Doc's eyes flicked sharply up to his brother's. "But not sorry enough to make it right by giving the money back..."

Charlie shook his head. "I can't do that, Len; even if I wanted to, I can't. If Weed Watkins and his gang doesn't kill me, the law'll put me away for twenty years if it catches up with me. Either way it's the end of my life; you don't want that, do you?"

Adams looked sadly into his little brother's face. "No Charlie, I don't." Galen paced away once more, his voice sullen, "I'm to blame in any case. I'm the one who raised you, and somewhere along the way..."

He left the thought unvoiced, and Charlie growled, "Somewhere along the way you realized I'd never live up to your expectations."

Galen stared hard into his brother's eyes, and then softly said, "I'd better go get you some food from Delmonico's..."

The sound of footsteps on the staircase caused both of them to start. Charlie looked at Galen in panic. "Lenny..."

Adams peered carefully through the curtains and turned to Charlie. "It's the marshal."

"Please Lenny...I don't wanna talk to him."

Galen sighed heavily. "I'll get rid of him."

Charlie nodded and barely closed the door to the bedroom when Matt entered Doc's office, "Doc?"

"What is it, Matt?" The physician asked from his desk chair.

"Well hello to you too, you ol' country croaker," Dillon chided.

Adams glowered slightly but said, "Sorry...I'm just grouchy because I have a lot of work to catch up on."

Dillon stood behind Doc's chair, peering at the documents on the old man's desk, and his voice turned sarcastic. "Yes, I can see how reading about setting a broken leg bone would be riveting for a doctor of your experience."

Adams slammed the book shut, inwardly chastising himself for not choosing a more convincing page to have open. "Every doctor has to brush up and review techniques for the good of his patients," he growled, "if it was your leg I was tryin' to set, you'd be thankful!"

"Uh-huh," Dillon said unconvinced. "How's your brother?"

Adams pitched his voice casually, "Better, thanks. That what you came over here to ask me?"

Matt's eyes narrowed slightly. "Not entirely." Doc glared at Dillon, and the younger man added, "I came over here to ask Charlie a few questions. I figured by now he should be strong enough to talk to me about the men who robbed him."

Doc picked up the large book and carried it over to his bookcase putting it away. "He's stronger all right. So much so that he's not here just now."

"He's not," Dillon echoed flatly. "Where is he?"

"I think he went to get something to eat at Delmonico's."

"You think? He didn't tell you where he was going?"

Adams whirled around to face Dillon, the anger in his light eyes flashing like fireflies on a dark night. "I'm not his keeper!"

"Could have fooled me the past few days."

Adams fought to keep his temper in control. "I'll tell him you were lookin' fer him when he gets back."

"That's all right... Delmonico's you say? I'll just take a walk over there and have a bite with him."

Doc turned away from the big marshal, suddenly showing great interest in the pill bottles in a cabinet. "Yes, you do that."

"All right. I'll see you later, Doc."

"Yeah..."

Dillon opened the door and turned back, catching the doctor's guilt-ridden eyes with his own. "If by chance I miss him at Delmonico's, you be sure and tell him I want to speak with him."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that."

Dillon walked out, softly closing the door behind him, leaving Doc trembling in anger. At the sound of the bedroom door, Adams lost the battle with his temper.

"Do you have any idea the position you've put me in? Do you care?"

"Lenny, all you did was--"

"--I know what I did, Charlie," Galen bellowed, "you don't need to point it out to me. I lied to a man who has been a very loyal and dear friend to me."

"Aren't you overreacting, Galen? All you did was tell him a little white lie."

"Oh is that what I did? I lied to a federal marshal, Charlie, and I interfered with his investigation; not to mention the fact that I'm knowingly harboring a wanted fugitive. Worse than that, I lied to Matt Dillon, who doesn't deserve this from me."

"Fine," Charlie growled, "then go tell him I'm up here. And while you're at it, Galen, why don't you tell him what I did? Then maybe you can help him escort me to the jail, lock me in it and throw away the key!"

"Damn you, Charlie! Is it ever anything besides 'I' and 'me' with you? Don't you care that after you leave here footloose and fancy-free with money that doesn't belong to you, I'll be ruined in this town?"

"Heaven forbid Galen Adams show a tiny chip of mere humanity by protecting his little brother. Still the pillar of societal morality, aren't you? If you're more worried about what your friends here will think of you as opposed to what will happen to me, big brother, then you'd better go after your buddy the marshal before he figures out that you're lying to him about me."

Doc's eyes filled with unshed tears. "You really have no idea what love means, do you Charlie? If you did, you'd understand that Matt Dillon already knows I'm lyin' to him."

"What?"

Doc plopped, exhausted in his desk chair. "He knows, you little fool."

"Then why didn't he--"

"--Call me on it?" Charlie nodded and Doc shook his head in disgust. "He isn't going to..."

"Then I'm home-free!"

"Yes, Charlie," Doc sighed in deep disappointment, "you're home free." Doc's voice turned to a whisper as Charlie poured himself a celebratory whiskey. "But it's going to cost me everything I hold dear."

Charlie clapped his brother on the back. "Don't look so dour, Galen; by this time tomorrow, I'll be out of here and you can go back to your neat little life here in Dodge."

Doc thought about explaining it to him. He thought about telling his little brother that nothing would be the same between him and his Dodge family again; but the smile on Charlie's face reminded Galen that such an illustration would fall silent on a soul incapable of comprehending it. Instead the small doctor turned the anguish and guilt inward with the knowledge that had he been a better father-figure, Charlie wouldn't have grown up to be such a self-serving man. Doc had to swallow down the tears that threatened to fill his eyes; he couldn't blame Charlie - the boy grew up without love, except for what an older brother could show him. And deep-down, Galen Adams knew that no matter what Charlie did, his older brother would always make excuses for him, protect him, and in the end, forgive him. Doc just didn't know any other way of loving...

* * *

Chester blew some of the foam off his beer. "Wull Mr. Dillon, I just don't see why ol' Doc'd lied to you 'bout his little brother. It just don't make no sense."

"Somehow, Chester, the pieces have to fit together. I know Doc; I know him well, and as surely as we're sittin' here, he was not telling me the truth."

Kitty's brow furrowed deeply. "Maybe he's really afraid that his brother's not up to it, Matt. I mean he didn't look so good the morning after he was attacked."

"Then Doc would have just said that; besides, Charlie was beaten three days ago Kitty, by now, I'm sure he's on the mend." He looked at Kitty for a moment then asked, "When Charlie first arrived, where did he say he was coming from?"

"Texas, I think."

"Hmmm..."

"What, Matt?"

"I don't know, maybe nothing, maybe something." He turned to Goode. "Chester, I need you to do me a favor."

"Sure Mr. Dillon, just name it."

"I need you to send a telegram to Marshal Bixby in San Antonio inquiring about Charles Adams."

"San Antonio, Texas?"

"You know of any other San Antonios, Chester?"

"Uh, no sir, no, I don't."

"Well good then, send it to that one."

"Yes sir."

Chester began to leisurely sip his beer again, and Matt glared. "Chester, I mean NOW."

"Oh, oh, wull, okay, Mr. Dillon." Goode stood up and put his hat on his head, adjusting his jacket tighter around him. "I hear there's a storm coming up our way from the south, it's gettin' downright cold outside." He nodded at Russell. "I'll see you directly, Miss Kitty, and thanks for the beer."

Before Kitty could say that she hadn't intended to buy the round of beer, he was gone. "You're welcome," she muttered as an afterthought.

Matt leaned in closer to her then. "Tell me what you know about Charlie."

"It's not much," Kitty said. "Doc told me that Charlie's 12 years younger than he is and that their father died when Charlie was about a year old."

"What'd he die of?"

"Doc didn't say. But he indicated that things got a little tough for his mother takin' care of three kids and supportin' the family with no husband."

"Yeah, that would be tough. What else?"

"He's very protective of Charlie, and Matt, emotionally I think Charlie's more like a son to Doc than a brother."

"And just like most fathers would do for a son, Doc might just lie to cover for him."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think Charlie's a wanted man, Kitty."

"Oh Matt, no... Doc wouldn't become involved in anything like that."

"I'm not saying Doc's involved, Kitty, just that he might do whatever he thinks necessary to protect his little brother." Matt's eyes narrowed slightly. "From the sound of it, I don't think Charlie's an overly responsible man; it makes me wonder how many times Doc has had to bail him out of one scrape or another over the years."

"You're thinking Doc has sent him money, and that's why he never has two dimes to rub together..."

Matt nodded, his mouth pulled tightly in a straight line. "Quite possible, Kitty."

"I hope you're wrong, Matt."

"So do I, Kitty, but given the way Doc's acting, it all makes perfect sense." He licked his lips slightly. "How would you feel about trying to soft-soap it out of him?"

Kitty sighed, shaking her head doubtfully. "I don't know that I'll have any luck in this instance, Matt, but I'm willin' to give it a try if you think it'll help."

Matt took a long sip of beer before saying, "Kitty, I can't think of anything else to do, and I sure as hell don't want to see Doc get mixed up in anything he might regret."

Feeling the weight of the lawman's words, Kitty glanced out the open Long Branch doors and saw the first snow flurries begin to fall; if not for the worry hanging over both she and Matt, it might have been beautiful.

* * *

"Damn this snow," Bill declared as he rode along next to Watkins. "This damned storm's gonna follow us all the way into Dodge, I bet."

"All the better for us." When Bill looked at him funny, Weed continued, "If it continues to come down heavily, then whatever tracks we might leave to be followed will be wiped away."

Bill smiled. "A clean getaway. I like that." Bill spat the tobacco he was chewing out onto the freshly fallen snow. "I been thinkin' Weed...maybe it'd be better if we just surprise Charlie out on the trail after he leaves Dodge and keep that sawbones brother of his out of it. I mean, the less people who knows about us, the better in my book."

Watkins shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Bill. No matter what we might tell Charlie or his brother, we ain't leavin' that sawbones alive so he can tell anyone about us. No loose ends, Billy-boy. No loose ends at all."

Bill nodded, but said nothing. Weed hadn't made many mistakes in all the years Bill had been riding with him - except for choosing Charlie. That had been a mistake. A big one. But other than that, they'd managed to get away with every job they'd ever pulled; not many other gangs could claim such a record. Bill wondered exactly what it was that Weed was planning for Charlie. Whatever it was, he couldn't imagine it would be too pleasant. He almost felt sorry for Charlie's sawbones brother; that poor fella was gonna buy the farm solely because of the blood that flowed through his veins. It didn't seem right. But then Bill was hardly the kind of man to cross the likes of Weed Watkins for something important like money, much less some old doctor he'd never met.

Still, the idea of killing some old man on account of Charlie didn't sit well. But Bill tried to put it out of his mind as they rode the final twenty miles into Dodge; it didn't matter what he thought, there was only what Weed was going to do. A shiver rippled up Bill's spine. Whether it was from the falling snow or the thought of what Watkins would do to the old man, he didn't know.


	5. Chapter 5

Kitty glanced over the top of the batwing doors, absently watching the falling snow outside. Her eyes caught the movement on Doc's stairwell and trailed the small figure as he descended the slippery steps, noting that when he reached the bottom, he turned left toward the south end of town. Matt's request for her to talk to the doctor about his brother once again forced itself into the forefront of her mind, and she slammed her eyes shut against the repeating argument inside her head. The subject of Charlie as a probable fugitive went well beyond the established boundary of Doc's privacy; but having witnessed the physician's demonstrative love for his little brother, Kitty knew her old friend would continue to protect him, even if it meant breaking the law, and with it, Matt's heart. Any conversation to the contrary would be unwelcome. Shaking her head at the predicament, her jaw tightened as she stepped away from the Long Branch doors. But she grabbed her large cloak from the rack and threw it over herself, nodding toward Noonan as she buttoned it up.

"Sam, I'll be back in a little while, take care of things, okay?"

"Sure thing, Miss Kitty," the big bartender said.

Kitty bustled out of the batwing doors and headed in the same direction she had seen Doc walking. As she rounded the bend in Front Street, she saw the doctor enter Delmonico's. Speeding up her pace, the young woman crossed the street and within moments, entered the restaurant. Expecting to find him at one of his usual large tables in the front, she was surprised to find him almost hidden in the back at a small table. Unbuttoning her cloak, Kitty swiftly moved over to him.

"Hello, Doc. How 'bout some company?"

Not anticipating anyone he knew well given the early hour, the startled doctor scrambled to his feet, removing his hat. "Well, Kitty...this is a surprise..."

She indicated the empty chair at the table. "Is it okay if I join you, or are you expecting someone?"

"No, no, I'm not expectin' anyone, it's all yours." He held the chair out for her and she sat down. Letting out a slight sigh of air, he sat back down in his seat and forced himself to smile at her. "Kinda early for supper, ain't it?"

Deciding she needed to proceed cautiously with him, she kept the air between them light. "I'm hungry," she smiled, "What're you doin' here at such an early hour?"

"Same thing," he muttered, not entirely convinced that the happenstance meeting was truly a coincidence. He looked at the menu, and observed her out of the corner of his eye. "Special's beef stew, that sounds kinda good, don't it?"

"Yes, it does." She set her menu down as Joe approached the table to take their order. "Howdy Joe, I'll have the beef stew and a coffee, thanks."

"All righty, Miss Kitty, and you, Doc?"

"I'll uh, I'll just have a soft-boiled egg and a coffee, Joe, thanks."

Joe took the menus and walked away. Kitty stared at Adams. "A soft-boiled egg? What happened to the good-sounding beef stew?"

He shrugged her off. "Nothin'...just didn't feel like havin' it is all."

She perceived the lie, but kept her voice carefully neutral. "You okay, Doc?"

"Sure, sure, just changed my mind about havin' somethin' heavy."

The hollow smile on his lips did nothing to ease her, so she pressed on. "Haven't seen you around too much lately, Curly, what've you been up to?"

Finding a sudden fascination with his spoon, Adams beginning fidgeting with it as he answered, "Nothing too much. Just takin' care of business is all, the usual..."

"How's Charlie coming along?"

Even though he tried to cover it, Kitty caught the slight flinch at the mention of his brother's name, but all he said was, "He's better, thanks."

"How soon before we'll see the two of you for a drink over at the Long Branch?"

"Charlie's not up to that," Doc snapped.

"I didn't say he was, Doc," Kitty soothed, trying to keep the anger from her tone, "I merely asked you when we might see the two of you out and about."

"I don't know," he growled. His eyes deflected away from her as he continued, "Charlie's healin' a mite slow, and he's plannin' to be on his way as soon as possible."

"On his way? I thought he came here to have a visit with you and that you two hadn't seen each oth--"

"--If I wanted to play twenty questions, I'd be sittin' here with Matt," he rumbled bitingly.

The withered look on Kitty's face sent a surge of regret through Doc's chest and he began to nervously fiddle with his spoon once more. After a few moments of awkward silence, Kitty set a soft hand on his forearm, causing his fidgeting to come to an abrupt halt. His pale eyes flicked up to hers, and the concern he found in the ocean of crystal blue filled him with remorse. She gently rubbed his forearm with her hand, and the old physician swallowed down his pride, hard.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said, placing his strong hand on top of hers. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"I know you didn't, Curly," she answered softly. "I'm a little worried about you, though. So's Matt..."

Adams nodded and looked once again into the deep sea of vivid blue. "That why you followed me over here?"

If she was at all surprised that he knew the meeting was not accidental, she didn't let on. "I wanted to talk to you, Doc, just the two of us."

Her eyes bore into his and the intensity of love he saw reflected in them began to tear down what little defense he had built up, causing him to nervously clear his throat in an effort to break her spell.

"So here were are," he said carefully as he began to fidget slightly in his chair.

Sensing that he was fighting to maintain an emotional distance from her, she took one of his strong hands into hers, holding it tightly.

"No one's seen hide nor hair of you in several days, Doc, not since Charlie showed up in town; folks are startin' to think you're avoidin' 'em--"

"--Is it so wrong that I've been taking care of my little brother?" He retorted defensively. "He was beat up somethin' awful, ya know."

"So you've said," Kitty responded flatly.

The pale blue eyes stared hard into her crystal blue ones. "What is it that you want to say to me, Kitty? Obviously Matt's put you up to this because he figured you'd have better luck soft-soapin' me, so let's just cut to it and get it over with..."

Kitty sighed audibly and fixed him with a withering stare before asking, "Is Charlie in some kinda trouble, Doc?"

"That's...well that's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes," he growled, "it is. My brother came to Dodge fer a visit, he was bushwhacked the first night he was here, and that's it."

"So you haven't been providing interference between him and Matt because Charlie's in some kinda trouble with the law?"

"Of course not!" He bellowed, causing a few other patrons to turn and look.

Kitty could see him working himself up into an angry fit and she tried to calm him. "Now Doc, just calm down, you know that I wouldn't--"

His voice took on a hard edge, "--I can't believe Matt asked you to do this, Kitty, and that you went along with it." His pale eyes glistened with the sting of perceived betrayal. "I thought you and I understood each other better than that..."

Joe suddenly appeared, setting their food in front of them, causing a break in the conversation for a moment or two. Kitty and Doc glared at each other until the waiter stepped away.

"Matt and I are concerned that you might be tempted to try and handle anything that may have come up about Charlie on your own. I just want to remind you that you're not alone, Doc; Matt and I will help you no matter what the trouble, surely you know that..."

Doc lowered his voice, allowing its natural resonance to carry a threatening undertone, "I'll thank you and the marshal of this town to mind your own damned business from now on." He shoved his plate away from himself and abruptly stood, throwing money down next to it. "That oughta cover it." He yanked his hat down on his head at a sharp right angle and shrugged into his coat before leaning his hands on the table, allowing his face to loom dangerously close to hers. "You seem to have forgotten the boundaries of friendship, Miss Russell; Charlie is my brother, and my lookout, not yours. How I choose to take care of him is between Charlie and me, and does not involve you, Matt, Chester, or anyone else in this damned town who seems to think that because I'm the local sawbones everyone here is a part of my family. _Charlie_ is the only family I've got, he's my responsibility, and I assure you that I need no help from the town busybodies where my little brother is concerned. Do we understand each other?"

The tears brimming in her eyes made the doctor swallow hard as she answered with a whisper, "Yes."

He nodded, the bite in his tone all but gone, "Good."

Doc pushed off from the table, turned and stalked out of Delmonico's, leaving Kitty with silent tears streaming down her cheeks and a hollowness in her heart.

* * *

"I hope you're satisfied," Doc yelled, shoving his hat on the coat rack by the door as he entered his office. "I just had to hurt someone that I--" His words faltered as the emotion in his heart closed his throat. He glared at his little brother who was sitting at his desk. "While you, my blood kin, have been galavantin' all around the territory, swindlin' people out of their hard-earned money - and still needin' to take mine - some people here in Dodge have become like family to me. They've stood beside me through thick and thin, takin' care of me when I needed them to and showin' me more love than... well, more love than a man like me deserves." He stood next to his brother then, glaring down into the pale eyes so like his own. "I'll be damned if I let you be the cause of me hurtin' them any more than I already have."

In sharp contrast to his older brother, Charlie's voice was soft, "You gonna hand me over to the law, Galen?"

Doc turned away from his brother, hands shoved deeply into his pants pockets. "No, I ain't gonna turn you over to the law." He whirled back around to face his little brother, Doc's light blue eyes shining with anger. "But it's time for you to go, Charlie. I won't keep lyin' to Matt fer ya, I can't."

"He come atcha again out there on Front Street, did he?"

"No, he didn't. I told you, Matt ain't gonna say a word to me."

Charlie stood then, frowning at his older brother. "Then what in the hell's got you so riled up?"

"What's got me so riled up? What? You, Charlie. It's you and your stolen money, your lyin' and your thinkin' that this world owes you somethin' - well lemme tell ya, it don't! And neither do I. After this, we're even. Whatever wrong I did you in raisin' ya, I've more than made up fer over the years. You've cleaned me out of any money I ever made, and now you've come here and ruined the relationships that meant the most to me in the world; protectin' you forced me to hurt the people I love." Tears welled up in Doc's eyes, although none dared to fall. "I left a young woman, who's become like a daughter to me, in tears over at Delmonico's because I had to tell her she was stickin' her nose in where it don't belong and that she doesn't mean a thing to me. I chose the brother I held in my arms as a baby over her because my heart didn't give me a choice." Doc's voice turned soft with an anguish that can only come from a broken heart, "So now that you've taken my life here in Dodge, Charlie, there ain't nothin' left fer you to take." His voice fell to a whisper, as he turned away from his brother, "There ain't nothin' left..."

Incapable of understanding his brother's sorrow, but comprehending that he had to leave, Charlie reached for his hat, saddle bags and coat. "No matter what you think of me, Len, I never meant to hurt you." He put his hat on his head, yanking it down at a sharp right angle. "My ways aren't your ways, I know that." He shrugged his coat on and slung the saddle bags over his shoulder. "I know you did your best by me, you always have." He put a soft hand on Doc's shoulder, causing Doc's back to stiffen with tension. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention to the marshal that I left town tonight... It'd give me a bit of a head start anyway." When Galen didn't respond, Charlie let his hand slide off his brother's shoulder. "I guess I'll be on my way then."

He waited for Doc to say something, but the small doctor remained stoic, his back to his little brother. Charlie turned for the door and opened it, but once again looked toward the brother who raised him.

"Don't know that I'll pass this way again, Lenny, so I'll just say so long now." Charlie looked down at his hand on the doorknob. "Despite what you might think, I've always admired you, looked up to you, and in my own way, I've loved you, Len. No matter what happens, please don't forget that..."

Tears streaked down his face, but Doc didn't move, and finally, silently, Charlie walked through the door, closing it softly behind him.

Galen slammed his eyes shut against the pain in his heart as he whispered, "I love you, baby boy," to the empty room.

* * *

"I knew he'd be angry, but I never thought he'd tell me that he doesn't think of us as family. Matt, he said that we're just town busybodies and just because he's the town doc, we don't have a right to think of him as kin. I know it was a cheap shot out of desperation, but it still hurt an awful lot..."

"I know it did, and I'm sorry." Dillon pulled her into his arms as he spoke gently, "I shouldn't have asked you to do it, Kitty. I underestimated his emotional state of mind regarding his brother. It was my mistake, and I'm sorry I put you in that position." He stroked her hair with his hand. "Unfortunately, it's not going to get any easier..."

She pushed away from him. "What do you mean?"

Matt pulled a telegram from his pocket. "Barney brought this to me while I was havin' supper over at Delmonico's..."

Kitty read the paper and studied Matt's face for a moment. "You think this fella Weed Watkins is gonna come here with his gang..."

"Yes."

"What makes you think he'll _know_ to come here? It doesn't make sense that Charlie would have told him about Doc."

"Maybe, maybe not. The Watkins gang's a pretty hard bunch, Kitty. If Doc's brother so much as ever mentioned that he had family here in Dodge, believe me, they're on their way."

"Are you going to arrest Charlie?"

"I have no choice, Kitty." He put his hands on her shoulders. "I only came by here first because Joe told me that you and Doc had words earlier, and I wanted to be sure you were all right."

He headed for the door of her room, but her voice stopped him. "Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't think this fella Watkins will go after Doc, do you?"

Matt's lips pursed tightly together. "If Doc gets between Watkins and Charlie, I don't think Weed would hesitate to kill him, Kitty." Dillon picked his hat up from the chair by the door and put it on his head. "Don't worry, I'm gonna lock Charlie up, and I'll have Chester stay with Doc tonight just in case."

Matt opened the door and walked out, closing it behind him. And with nothing to distract her from her disturbing thoughts, Kitty began pacing the length of the floor in her room.

* * *

"What do you mean he's gone?" the marshal demanded.

"Gone, as in not here," Doc growled from his desk chair.

"Where'd he go?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

Matt moved closer to Doc, his fists balling in anger at his hips. "Well he must have told you something."

"No, he didn't, and I didn't ask him." Doc looked away, muttering, "I didn't want to know."

"Doc...how could you have done this? You knew he was runnin' from the law..."

"He's my baby brother, Matt; what else could I do?"

"On the first part, Charlie's not a baby, and on the second, you could have come to me, I would have helped you."

"You would have locked him up, Matt. You would have had no choice but to do what that badge tells you."

Matt sighed as he leaned against the top of Doc's wooden desk. "I wouldn't have just locked him up and thrown away the key, Doc. I would have tried to help him, surely you know that."

"Look, if you need to lock me up for aiding and abetting, than do it, I'll understand..."

"Oh for God's sake, Doc, don't be asinine." The two men glared at each other, and Dillon pushed his hat farther back on his head. "I'm not gonna lock you up and you know it."

"Ya sound mad enough to..."

"Of course I'm mad, but not because you were protectin' your brother..." Doc looked sharply at him, and Matt looked away. "I'm upset because you didn't trust me, Doc." He stared then into the deep pale eyes. "You didn't trust me to help you."

Doc pulled the glasses from his face and tossed them to the desk before running his hand through his wavy hair. "Oh hell, Matt, it wasn't that I didn't trust you." He placed a light hand on Dillon's forearm. "I didn't wanna put you in that kind of position." Doc squeezed the flesh under his strong hand. "That and I couldn't bring myself to ask fer help, I guess."

"That why you told Kitty we're not your family?"

Dillon saw the pain register in the blue eyes before Doc deflected them away, whispering, "Yeah, I didn't mean that at all, Matt. Not at all."

Matt put his hands on Doc's shoulders for a moment, smiling. "Neither of us believed you, ya ol' country croaker..." The pale blue eyes looked hopefully into the bright blue staring back at him. "It wouldn't hurt for you to say somethin' to Kitty about it though. Even though she knows you didn't mean it, it hurt all the same."

Doc stood then, and walked away from Matt, fighting down his emotion. "I will, Matt, you can count on it."

"Good. Listen Doc, there is one other thing more we need to discuss."

"What's that?"

"The Weed Watkins gang."

"Who?"

"The men from San Antonio who I'm sure will be comin' through here at some point lookin' for your brother."

"Oh."

"Even though Charlie's cleared out, they might not believe that you don't know where he went."

"Me? What the hell makes you think they'll come lookin' fer me?"

"Doc, Weed Watkins is not stupid, so he'll come lookin'. I'd feel better about it if for now, we had Chester stay with you at night and--"

"--No, no... Oh no you don't, Matt."

"But Doc--"

"--Don't you 'but Doc' me. The answer is no. Do you know what it's like havin' him here?"

Matt's eyebrows raised slightly. "Yeah, I think I might have some idea of what that's like, yes."

"Oh don't get sarcastic, ya smart aleck. He'll just be into everything in this office, takin' pills he don't need fer ailments he don't have, drivin' me absolutely to my grave, Matt. That's what he'll do. You'd be better off lettin' the likes of Weed Watkins have at me!"

"Now Doc--"

"--No, Matt. The answer is just plain no. I'll be fine here by myself, don't you worry about it." When Matt didn't budge, Adams allowed the vinegar in his personality to color his tone, "Go on! Get outta here! I don't need some kind of babysitter... That's what's wrong with young folks today, they don't listen to nobody. No sir..."

Dillon sighed but nodded. "All right, Doc. Once Weed realizes Charlie isn't here, he'll probably move on anyway. But I want you to keep your eyes and ears open, all right?"

"Yeah, yeah...I don't need--" He growled loudly. "I don't need to be handled like a baby! Now get outta here and lemme do my work!"

Dillon smiled then. "Okay, okay, I'm goin'..." Matt opened the door and turned back to his friend. "You just remember something for me, Doc..."

Maintaining his sarcastic tone, Doc said, "And just what's that, Mr. Marshal?"

"You just remember that if you need me, I'll always be here."

The two men held each other's eyes for a moment, and when Doc answered, there wasn't a hint of sarcasm left in his timbre, "I know that, son, thanks."

Matt held the old man's eyes for another moment before nodding and walking out the door. And for the second time that night, Doc's eyes misted over with emotion that resided deep in his soul.

* * *

It was well past three in the morning when Weed Watkins and his gang rode quietly into Dodge. The snow was coming down hard in the bitter cold of a Kansas winter, and Weed imagined that all the good citizens in such a law-abiding town were shut-up for the night, curled cozily by fireplaces or warm potbellied stoves, covered in soft quilts. He shivered in his coat. It had been a long ride, but he didn't regret arriving in the wee hours; it would make his business in Dodge that much smoother to conduct without interruption. He looked up and down the street, searching for the office of the local sawbones. Bill was the one who finally spotted it.

"There, Weed," he pointed, continuing, "Dr. G. Adams, M.D. That must be him, it must be Charlie's brother."

Weed guided his horse into the alleyway underneath Doc's stairwell, and his men followed suit.

"Bill, you and Pablo come with me. The rest of you, wait here. And make room for a body on that packhorse..."

After dismounting, Weed, Pablo and Bill quietly ascended the snow-covered stairs. Upon reaching the top, they pulled their guns and waited for Weed to try the door; it was unlocked. Silently Weed and his men crept into the doctor's office, closing the door behind them. Bill lit a match, and after a cursory check of the empty outer office, the three men headed toward the closed door leading to the back room. Weed walked over to the sleeping figure in the bed, and holstering his gun, he grabbed Doc, placing a hand over the physician's mouth, preventing any sound of surprise from issuing loudly. Doc fought the arms holding him in the dark as he was pulled roughly from his warm bed, and yanked to the floor. A man much larger than he had him gripped tightly from the back, and even though he struggled, Doc couldn't break away.

A low voice whispered in his ear, "Don't fight me, old man, just tell me what I want to know, and mebbe I won't hurtcha." Doc strained against the strong arms holding him until the man reiterated his intention by pushing harder across the doctor's windpipe. "I ain't foolin' ya ol' sawbones, I can let you talk to me, or I can kill ya right here, right now." Doc stopped squirming and the man said, "I'm gonna let up on ya some, so's you can tell me what I wanna know, but if you so much as try and make noise, I'll fix it so ya don't never make noise again. You git me?" Doc nodded against him, so Weed let up a little, although only enough so that Doc could speak. "You the brother of Charlie Adams?"

"Yeah," Doc's gravely voice said, "But he isn't here."

"I can see that, old man. Where is he?"

"I don't know."

Weed tightened his grip again, causing Doc to grimace. "Don't play dumb with me, Doc, or this could get mighty uncomfortable for ya. Now, when did Charlie leave?"

"Two days ago," Doc lied.

"And which direction did he go?"

"South," Doc lied again, knowing damned well Charlie wouldn't head back that way, "He went south."

Weed laughed before punching Doc hard in the side, eliciting a grunt from the old man. "Guess yer a slow learner, eh sawbones?" Doc winced from the manhandling and Weed punched him again, this time snapping a rib, causing Doc to cry out in pain.

"Hey Weed," Bill said softly, "go easy on him, or he won't be able to answer any of your questions."

"Shut-up Bill, I know whut I'm doin'," Weed growled. He tightened his arm around Doc's throat again, making it hard for him to breathe. "Now, as I was sayin' old man, I don't believe you at all. When did he leave and where did he go?"

"I told you," Doc wheezed through clenched teeth and tightened throat, "he left two days ago, and I don't know where he went. He didn't tell me." Weed pulled on Doc's windpipe yet again, and Adams growled, "Even if he had, I wouldn't tell you--"

Weed whirled Doc around in a sudden move, slamming his fist into Adams' face, sending the much smaller man reeling backward onto the bed. Watkins pulled Adams to his feet and punched him again, causing Doc to fall on the floor.

"Weed," Bill warned, "he can't tell you nothin' if he's dead!"

"You don't have much stomach for this, do you?" Pablo asked.

"Shut up, Pablo," Bill muttered. "Weed, he's just an old man..."

"He's an old man, but he's Charlie's brother." Weed grabbed Adams off the floor and tossed him toward Pablo. "Put his pants on him, but no shoes and no jacket." He looked at Bill. "And you my booksmart boy, you will write a note to Charlie tellin' him we got his brother, and if'n he wants to see him alive, he'll meet us two days from now at the old hideout north of here. And tell him to bring the money he stole from us if he wants to keep his brother alive."

"How's he gonna read this note if he ain't here?" Bill complained.

"He's around somewhere, Bill, don't you worry. He'll read it, and if he don't, somebody else who knows where he went will, and'll get word to him. Besides, this sawbones knows more than he's tellin'... Just wait till he's cold enough, hungry enough, and is hurtin' enough; he'll tell everything he knows then." Weed headed toward the outer office and the door. "Come on, Pablo, bring the old man."

"He can't ride like this, Weed," Pablo commented, "he's out cold."

"Just throw him over the pack horse on his belly and tie him to it."

Bill grabbed Watkins by the arm. "That could kill an old man like him, Weed."

Weed shoved Bill into the nearest wall, grasping him by the coat. "You better decide who you're with, Billy-boy, 'cause I'm darned near outta patience fer ya. I'm callin' the shots, just like always, if'n you don't like it no more, you can try and outgun me fer the right."

Bill swallowed hard. "I ain't tryin' to take your place, Weed," he licked his lips which had suddenly gone dry. "I'm just sayin' we can't get information out of a dead man. And besides, Charlie's the one we want and need to settle up with."

"Uh-huh." Weed let go of Bill. "Don't you fergit who's in charge, Billy-boy. Come on, Pablo, bring the old man, and let's go."

Pablo walked past Bill carrying Doc's unconscious body. "You better be careful, amigo, Weed won't take too much more mouth from you."

"Yeah..."

Bill Watkins sighed and followed the men out into the outer office, and while Weed and Pablo carried Doc outside, he lit a low oil lamp and began to write out the note. As he searched Adams' desk for paper and a pencil, a sick feeling began to crawl up his belly, for the poor old sawbones didn't stand a chance with Weed; and that fact left a sour taste in Bill's mouth. For as much as he wanted to get his share of the money, and take some satisfaction out of Charlie's hide for ratting on all of them, Bill didn't hold with the cold-blooded murder of an old man who had nothing to do with it. Especially an old man who from the looks of his office had been single-minded in the service of his town and its people.

But saving the old sawbones would mean going up against Weed; possibly killing him. Bill wasn't so sure he'd be able to kill the older brother who'd taken care of him all his life. Weed was many things to Bill, but above all, he was family. The younger Watkins sighed and finished scribbling out the note Weed had wanted. He stuffed it into an envelope and scratched Charlie's name on it, setting it on top of the desk. He blew out the lantern and walked out of the office, shutting the door quietly behind him. He descended the stairs to find all the men mounted and ready to ride.

"Is it did, Bill?" Weed asked.

"Yeah, it's done."

"Good. Get on your horse and let's go."

Bill glanced over at the packhorse and the old man tied belly down on it, clothed with no shoes or coat in a snowstorm, and his conscience got the best of him. "Weed, do we have to make him--"

Weed abruptly halted his brother's complaint by riding past him, and kicking him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. The men followed, heading north out of Dodge. Bill picked himself off the snow-covered ground, put his hat back on his head and mounted his horse. A moment later, he was following his brother's gang out of town, but for his own sake, Bill tried to leave whatever conscience he possessed, behind.

* * *

He had ridden through the snow for almost three hours when he couldn't take the nagging of his conscience any longer, and he had turned his horse around, and headed back to Dodge. It was nearing five in the morning, and the wind had begun to blow, causing the snow flurries to snap down on a rider like buckshot from a wayward rifle when he hit the outskirts of Dodge. As he rode through the north part of town, the quiet felt like an eerie cloak of sadness to him; but perhaps that was just the guise of his guilt as well. Charlie tied his mount up against the banister of his brother's stairwell and quickly made his way up the stairs. Whatever the outcome of the impending discussion, he had to be gone before sunup. He opened the door to the office, walked through the exam room and softly opened the door to the back bedroom.

"Lenny, hey big brother, wake up, I need to talk to you." He moved in the dark toward the lantern on the nightstand. "I can't leave things like this between us, Len, and I just want to talk to you for awhile..."

Charlie lit the lamp and his heart froze: the bed was empty and the normally tidy room was disheveled.

Carrying the illuminated lantern with him, Charlie quickly moved back out into the office and saw that Galen's hat and coat were still on the rack; so either he left in a hurry, or more likely, he left against his will. He shined the light near his brother's desk and saw the envelope lying there with his name on it. Feeling slight relief that Len had taken the time to leave him a note - and trying not to be annoyed that his older brother knew he would come back - Charlie pulled the note out and quickly read it, his heart slamming into his throat with each word. Tears stung his eyes as the realization that Weed Watkins had taken his brother sunk in. He practically fell into the desk chair, tears streaming down his face.

"Oh Lenny...Lenny, I'm sorry."

The possibilities of outcomes raced through Charlie's mind, and none of them were promising. If he took Weed the money, Watkins would take it and kill both Lenny and himself; of this Charlie was certain. On the other hand, if he did nothing, Galen was as good as dead; but in the end result, it was a better outcome because one of them would survive - and not only would he survive, but he'd still have the cash.

_But Galen would be dead because of him._

But what was worse? Both of them dying or just one? Charlie fought with his conscience: how many times over the years had Galen pulled him out of trouble? His brother had never once hesitated to help him. But the help had been financial, as opposed to this situation which was clearly the forfeiting-of-life kind of help. Tears began to fall down his cheeks as Charlie shook his head. Deep down, the younger Adams knew he didn't have his brother's courage, nor his brother's morals. He did not possess the ethics that were so much a part of Galen's character; no matter how hard Lenny had tried, he had never been able to successfully brand his beliefs into his little brother's pysche. And on some level, Charlie understood that this was at the seat of Len's disappointment with him.

Yet in the end, none of it mattered because Charlie Adams didn't have it in him to ride out to the shack north of Hays in the Smoky Hills and face Weed Watkins for the sake of his brother's life. Even though he knew Lenny would do it for him in a heartbeat, it simply wasn't in Charlie's makeup. Saddened, but understanding his own weakness, Charlie scribbled something on the note and then gently inserted it back into the envelope with his name on it as though he had never seen it. He placed it back on the spot where he'd found it on the desk; surely that big marshal or the saloon owner, Kitty, would find it in a few hours, and they'd send out a posse. Tears filled Charlie's eyes: what if they didn't find Galen before Weed realized Charlie wasn't coming? He shook his head; it was all on the shoulders of the marshal now, it couldn't be Charlie's lookout.

He blew out the lamp then, stood and walked to the door of the office, opening it quietly. He looked over the humble but well-worn doctor's office and felt a jab of guilt in his gut.

"I'm sorry big brother..."

Tears of loss and blame flowed down Charlie's face as he shut the door to his brother's office for the last time, and as the latch clicked home, he heard the final blow of disappointment to Galen's lifetime of patience with him. And as Charlie's horse road west out of town, he wondered how long it would be until Weed realized he wasn't coming; how much longer did Galen have to live? Charlie looked back at the entry of the marshal's office and the tiny bit of paper he could still see sticking out from underneath the door. Tears flooded his eyes; maybe Dillon could get there before Weed figured out Charlie wasn't coming with the money. Maybe Galen wouldn't die after all. Maybe... It all seemed so uncertain. But even that wasn't enough for Charlie Adams to comprehend the true depth of his brother's love, nor find it within himself to set upon a different course.

Charlie Adams just wasn't that kind of man...


	6. Chapter 6

He shivered hard as he began to stir, the cold of the underground cellar seeping into the very fabric of his marrow. His mind fought against the grogginess of his head and the nagging ache in his side. Doc's eyes slowly opened and he struggled to focus them. The cellar was extremely dark, with only small shafts of light shining through the gaps in the warped boards of the doors. The physician tried to move his arms and legs, but realized he was bound and couldn't pull his hands from behind his back, nor move his ankles independently of each other. Doc groaned in pain as he rolled to sit up, using his feet to push himself toward the wall so that he could lean against it. The subterranean room was about six feet square with a dirt floor, dirt walls and no windows; Adams couldn't see himself digging his way out any time soon. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall for a moment, willing the jabbing discomfort in his side to pass and the pounding headache to relent.

Doc let out a puff of air, preparing to use the wall against his back to help him stand. Slowly he pushed himself up, only to lose his balance from dizziness a moment later; he slid back down. He felt woozy as an involuntary shiver ran through him, and then he noticed that he had no shoes or socks on his feet and was dressed only in his nightshirt and a pair of pants. He looked over at the dim light streaming through the boards and guessed that it was probably near noon, and that it was an overcast day. Another shiver of cold rippled through him and he wondered how long he would be able to survive in an underground cellar in the dead of winter with no shoes, gloves, hat or coat. The doctor in him knew the answer was not promising.

The hatchway doors shook then as they slowly opened. Doc had to shut his eyes and turn his head away from the light that suddenly burst into the darkened pit. He heard footsteps move on the dirt stairs and he forced himself to look up at the man standing over him. Doc didn't recognize him, but then he had only a quick glimpse of the one kidnapper who had beaten on him before he was knocked out. This wasn't the one.

Adams glared up at the young man. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What do you want?"

Bill knelt and shoved his hat back on his head. "Just wanted to make sure you'd woke up all right. You were still out cold when we got here."

"And just where is _here_?" Adams sneered.

"Shack north of Hays. The Smoky Hills, I think is what the locals call it."

Doc grunted and glared hard at the man. "I don't suppose you'd agree to untie me?"

Bill shook his head. "Sorry Doc, can't do that. Weed wouldn't like it."

"Weed Watkins?"

"Yeah," Bill frowned at him.

"Yer the fellas Charlie fed to the sheriff in San Antonio."

"That's right, and if you know where Charlie went, old-timer, I'd tell Weed afore he gets a notion to kill you."

Doc snorted in derision. "If he keeps me too long in this cold, I'll freeze to death and he won't have to worry about it!"

Bill looked around, summing up Doc's predicament. "It is damned cold in here, ain't it..."

"You should try it with a bare minimum of clothes," Doc growled.

Bill sighed and then removed his coat. "Here," he said as he put it around Doc's shoulders, "this should help a little."

Adams looked the young man in the eye. "What's your name, son?"

"Bill," he said, "Bill Watkins."

"Watkins... you Weed's pup brother or somethin'?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Nothin'," Adams said, suddenly looking away. "Just made me think about brothers."

"Your brother sure done you wrong."

"He didn't do this," Adams growled. "He didn't have anything to do with this. _Your_ brother did this, make no mistake about that, boy."

"That might be, but if Charlie don't show with the money, Doc, it ain't gonna go good for you."

"I'm afraid we're both outta luck then. I wasn't lyin' about Charlie leavin' Dodge. He left fer good, so he ain't gonna know you got me. The only one's gonna know about it is the marshal, Matt Dillon."

Bill's eyes darted to Doc's. "I wouldn't get my hopes up, Doc, it didn't stop snowing until about an hour ago, so there ain't no tracks for Dillon to follow, and he ain't got no idea where to find us." Adams shifted his body weight, accidentally pulling on the broken rib, causing him to grimace. "You hurtin' bad?" Bill asked softly.

"No," Adams snapped, "I always travel around the countryside in winter with no coat or shoes, nursin' bumps and bruises from a beating and a broken rib..."

Bill stared into the angry pale blue eyes, and he thought he caught a glimpse of regret in them. He pitched his voice soft, "You hungry at all, Doc?"

Adams shrugged, not wanting to appear too anxious. "I could eat, I suppose."

Bill nodded and stood. "I'll see about gettin' you some mush and a cup of coffee. It won't be much, but it'll be hot at least." He headed for the hatchway doors when he caught the old man shivering and Bill added, "I'll see if I can't find a pair of socks for ya. It won't be too warm, but it'll help."

"I'd appreciate it, son," Doc replied gratefully.

Bill walked up the steps and through the doors, closing them securely behind him. Doc heard the lock spring into place and once again found himself in the damp, cold, darkness of the cellar.

* * *

Chester refilled Dillon's mug with hot coffee and said, "I almost forgot, Mr. Dillon, I found a note from Doc under the door this mornin'..."

"What note from Doc?"

"Said he wanted to see you up in his office this morning."

"And you're only telling me about it now?"

"Wull golly, Mr. Dillon, it didn't seem urgent or nothin'... I mean if it was important wouldn't ol' Doc just come down here to talk to ya?"

"Chester, how many times have you ever known Doc to leave a note under the door in the middle of the night?" Dillon asked as he stood to put on his gunbelt.

"Wull now thatcha mention it... I ain't never known him to do that."

"Exactly." Matt put his hat on and walked out the door.

Chester scrambled to catch up. "Wait for me, Mr. Dillon!"

* * *

"Doc!" Matt called as he walked into the office, Chester following closely behind. "Doc?" The big marshal glanced quickly at the outer office and seeing Adams' hat and coat on the rack, headed to the back room. He opened the door. "Doc? You still asleep in here?" But as Dillon entered the bedroom and surveyed the slightly unkempt appearance and the unmade yet empty bed, panic filled him. "Damnit!" He yelled as he walked back into the outer office, "Damnit!"

"Mr. Dillon? Whut is it?"

"Doc's gone, Chester."

"Well maybe he just went ta git a bite at Delmonico's..."

"Without his hat and coat?"

Chester swallowed hard. "You think somethin' bad's happened to him?"

"I should have made him do this my way," Dillon grumbled, "but no, he didn't want anybody stayin' with him..."

Goode glanced at Doc's desk and noticed the envelope with Charlie's name sitting on it. He picked it up. "Mr. Dillon?"

Matt looked over and Chester handed him the note. Dillon opened the envelope and pulled out the paper, quickly reading it.

"What's it say?"

Dillon looked up at his assistant. "Weed Watkins has him and he wants to trade Charlie the money he stole from them in San Antonio for Doc's life."

"But Mr. Dillon, Doc's brother done left town with the money. How's he gonna know about this?"

Matt stared at the specific mentions of places in the note and realized the crossouts and additions were written in a different hand. "Chester, do you still have the note Doc left under the door?"

"Yes sir," he pulled it from his back pocket, handing it to Dillon, "right here."

Matt examined the note: "Matt, I'd appreciate it if you'd come by the office first thing in the morning, I'd like to talk to you. Galen." Dillon shook his head and compared the two notes side by side, then he looked up at Goode. "I think Charlie _does_ know about this, Chester. He's the one who slipped the note for me under the door." Chester looked at him quizzically and Dillon added, "Doc would never sign a note to me as 'Galen,' he'd sign it 'Doc.' And the handwriting on the note to me and the add-ons in this note addressed to Charlie are exactly the same."

"Mr. Dillon...do you know whut you're sayin'?"

"I'm afraid so, Chester. Charlie knew Doc was in trouble, and instead of facing up to the law and taking us right to him, he left a note for me and skipped town with the cash."

"Wull forevermore..."

* * *

"Matt," Kitty said as she quickly entered the marshal's office, "I just heard about Doc. You think Weed Watkins has him?"

"I know he does, Kitty," Matt answered as he shoved a few more cans of beans into his saddlebag.

"Sam said Charlie knew about it, but skipped out on him..."

"I'm afraid he did."

Kitty shook her head sadly. "And Doc would anything for that no good brother of his, anything at all..."

"It's a terrible thing, Miss Kitty," Chester commented, "that a man would do this to his own brother. It's just an awful thing..."

"Chester," Matt interrupted as he handed Goode the saddlebags, "take these out to the horses and pack 'em up. I'll be right out."

"Yes Mr. Dillon."

Matt looked deeply into Kitty's eyes, and she could sense his fear. "You're afraid you won't find him in time."

"I have to, Kitty."

"You don't think there's any chance that Charlie might have..."

He looked down, then back up at her. "No. I'm afraid the only instinct Doc's brother has is the one for self-preservation."

She nodded sadly. "Someone like that doesn't deserve Doc's love."

"You know that old country croaker, Kitty; he doesn't know how to be any other way."

Kitty took his hands in hers. "Bring him back, Matt. Please bring him back."

The big marshal nodded as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. He turned and walked out of the office, with Kitty following him close behind. Chester was already mounted, waiting for Dillon, who turned to Sam Noonan.

"Sam, if you could keep an eye on things here, I'd be obliged."

"Don't worry about a thing, marshal," the tall bartender glanced at Kitty, then back at Dillon, "I'll be sure to take of everything. Just bring Doc back safely."

"Thanks, Sam, I'll do that."

Dillon climbed up on Buck, and after one last look at Kitty, the marshal and his assistant rode north out of town toward Hays.

* * *

Watkins had observed his little brother brooding through most of the afternoon. He had seen him stuff a pair of socks into his jacket pocket at one point, and now he watched him with curiosity as Bill filled a plate with cornmeal mush and poured a cup of coffee. The younger Watkins was headed for the door when his older brother's voice startled him.

"Where you goin' with them socks and that food, boy?"

Bill stopped cold and shook his head slightly, although he did not turn to face his brother. "He's just an old man, Weed. He's out in the cold with nothin' but a pair of pants and a nightshirt; he can't even walk around in the cellar to keep warm cuz you've got him tied up like a sick calf. It ain't gonna hurt nothin' if he has a pair of socks on his feet and a warm meal in his belly. He'll still be locked up in a dark ol' root cellar, beat up and cold as hell."

"That's the way I want him, boy... tied up, cold, hurtin' and waitin' for his lousy brother to git here with our money."

Billy turned to him then. "And then what, Weed? You ain't gonna let that old man go, and we both know it."

"That's right Billy-boy, I ain't, so don't go wastin' a clean pair o' socks and good food on him."

"What's it gonna hurt if his last hours aren't as miserable as all that?"

Weed stood then and walked over to stand in his brother's face. "I've done told you how I want things, Billy, don't you go messin' it up none."

"Please Weed, let me just take him this here. I won't ask to do it again, you got my word."

"Sort of a last meal, eh Bill?" Pablo asked.

"Yeah, yeah, it's sorta like that, yeah," Billy answered.

"All right, Billy," Weed said, "go give it to him. But Billy, don't ask me again, and when you come back, you'd better be wearin' the coat you give to him the last time you was out there. I want that old man plenty cold, tired and uncomfortable. Jes' mebbe he'll tell me where his damned little brother got off to if he gits hurtin' enough."

Bill swallowed hard, nodded and quickly left the shack, walking briskly toward the root cellar. It was nearing four in the afternoon, and the old doctor hadn't eaten a thing, nor been able to move for nearly twelve hours. The wind had picked up and a light snow was once again falling, and Bill could feel the cold right through his jacket. As he approached the cellar, he balanced the cup and plate in one hand and unlatched the doors with the other, flinging them open. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness and then walked down the dirt stairs. The old man was still leaning up against the wall, but he was shivering uncontrollably.

"Doc? I got some mush here for ya and a nice, hot cup of coffee." Adams opened his eyes painfully and nodded slightly at the young man, but said nothing. Bill set the food down and pulled the socks from his pocket, gently sliding them on Doc's feet, which felt like blocks of ice. "This might help some."

"Thanks," Doc answered flatly.

Bill looked closely at Doc's face and realized that the man's lips were practically blue. "Awful cold aren'tcha?" Adams nodded, but remained silent. "Here," Bill reached for Doc's bound hands behind him, "lemme undo this for ya, so's you can eat some."

As gently as he could he untied the old man's hands, and Adams grimaced in pain as he tried to bring his arms around to the front. Doc lay his hands in his lap and let his head fall against the dirt wall. Bill frowned at the old man.

"Ain't you gonna at least drink some coffee?"

Adams stared at the young man for a minute. "Can't feel my hands right now, they've been bound too long, blood's drained out of them and they're too cold."

Bill picked up the coffee cup and held it to Adams' mouth, allowing him to take a sip. After a few more sips, the warm liquid soothed him slightly and he tried to move his hands, only to find that he still couldn't control them.

"It's no use," Adams said through chattering teeth, "My hands are darned near frostbit."

Gently, Bill took the coat from Doc's shoulders and put his arms through it, buttoning it up the front. "That should help a mite."

"Please untie the rope around my feet."

"I can't."

"If I don't warm up by moving a little, I ain't gonna make it. You wanna be responsible fer that?"

"Listen here, old man, I ain't responsible for any of this."

"Oh no? Seems like you're a part of it to me..."

Bill glared at the old man. "The only person you have to blame for this is Charlie; he's the one that drug you in. Now I'm sorry that you're mixed up in it, but that's the way it turned out, and we ain't got nothin' else to say to each other about it."

Bill picked up the coffee cup and placed Doc's hands around it so that he could warm them.

Doc's voice was soft, "Your brother's gonna kill me ya know."

"That's between you and Weed."

Adams nodded. "So you don't care if he comes out here and shoots me, or leaves me tied up in this cellar until I freeze to death?"

Bill stood and headed for the door. "It ain't gonna help you none talkin' like that."

"Probably not," Adams sighed, "but it is the truth, ain't it? You're gonna let yer brother kill me, even though you know it's wrong. In your heart, son, you know it's wrong, but you ain't gonna do nothin' to stop it. That makes you as guilty as he."

The two men stared hard into each other's eyes, and Doc felt the veracity of it land hard in his stomach: Bill Watkins wasn't going to stick his neck out that far, he wasn't going to take on his brother. His fate sealed, Doc closed his eyes and suddenly cried out in pain, reaching for his side. Bill bent over the old doctor to steady him.

"Easy, Doc, it'll be--"

Adams flung the coffee into the man's face, and Bill yelped in surprise and pain. With waning strength, Doc grabbed the younger man by the collar, pulling him hard into his own head, banging him as forcefully as he could. Slightly dazed by his own blow, Doc reached for the plate of mush and smashed Bill in the face with it, breaking his nose. The younger man was stunned by the surprise attack, and was slow to defend himself, allowing the injured doctor to gain the upper hand. Adams slid Bill's gun from its holster and caused Watkins to freeze upon hearing the weapon's trigger cock.

"Don't move, son. I don't want to, but I'll kill ya if I have to."

Still trying to recover from the coffee in his eyes, Bill glared at Adams. "I believe you would, old man."

"Now, take this rope," Adams handed him the rope that had been used to bind his arms, "and tie up your feet. Do it tight or I'll do it for ya." Doc watched the man tie his feet together and then he said, "Roll over onto your belly." Bill didn't comply and Adams growled thrusting the gun for emphasis, "Do it!" Finally Bill rolled over and after untying his own feet, Doc slowly, painfully knelt next to the young man and tied his hands tightly behind his back with the length of rope. Reaching into his back pocket, Doc pulled out the handkerchief he always kept there. "I'm sorry about this, son," he said as he gagged Bill with it, tying it tightly around the back of his head. Adams gently rolled the man onto his side, checking the binds carefully. "Just relax Bill, and you'll be fine. Your brother will figure pretty soon that somethin' went wrong and he'll come out and look fer ya." Doc removed the young man's shoes and quickly put them on his cold and slightly frostbitten feet. "They're a little large, but they'll do," he said as he winked at the young man.

Gingerly favoring his right side, Doc tried to stand, although it was more difficult than he had anticipated. Adams uncocked the gun and shoved it in his waistband before cautiously peering out the doors of the cellar. The wind was howling fiercely and the snow was blowing like a twister, making the visibility next to nothing. Adams didn't see anyone around, but then he could barely see the small shack which was probably only ten feet or so away. He narrowed his eyes looking for a corral or a tie-line for horses, but he couldn't see any. Sighing heavily, Doc realized he was going to have to head out on foot; but then, even that was better than the painfully slow death he was assured if he stayed in the cellar. Against protesting muscles and bones, Doc forced himself out into the storm, knowing that even a small chance was better than none at all.

* * *

Weed glanced at his pocket watch and mumbled, "What the hell's takin' that kid so dang long?"

Pablo sighed. "Maybe the old man's not doing too well. He wasn't in the best of shape when we got here."

"Jimmy," Weed said, "go out there and see what Bill's doing."

"Sure, Weed."

Jimmy stood, shrugged into his coat and after plopping his hat on his head, he walked out the door. The wind and blowing snow hit him in the face and he pulled the brim of his hat down further. He walked the distance between the shack and the cellar quickly, and his heart jumped into his throat when he saw that the door was latched. Jimmy opened the doors and with the small amount of outdoor light cast into the cellar, he saw Bill tied up on the floor. He went to Watkins and removed the gag.

"Damnit! How long was you gonna wait to check on me? My nose is broke and I'm freezing to death out here."

Jimmy released the ropes on Bill's hands and legs and helped him up. "Billy, where's your shoes?"

Bill looked away and muttered, "The old man took 'em."

Jimmy shook his head. "Weed ain't gonna be happy."

"Yeah, no kidding."

* * *

"How could you let this happen?" Weed roared.

"Well I--"

"--I'm tryin' to see how it'd go; some runty old sawbones overpowerin' you."

"It didn't exactly happ--"

"--Didja just untie him and give him your shoes?"

"Weed--"

"--Guess I shouldn'ta let a boy try and do a man's job. Next time, I'll rely on Jimmy."

Bill looked down at his bare feet. "Can I put some shoes on, Weed?"

"You got another pair?"

"There's an old pair of boots under that cot in the corner."

"Fine. You jes' put 'em on, because you, Pablo and Jimmy's gonna go out there and find this old man and bring him back here."

"In this storm?" Pablo asked.

"You got a problem with that, Pablo?" Weed stared at him dangerously.

The Mexican stared hard into Weed's eyes for a moment and then said, "No, I guess not."

"Good. Now get going. Pete and I'll wait here in case Charlie shows."

"I don't think Charlie's gonna show," Bill said.

"The old man told you that?" Bill nodded and Weed continued, "Billy-boy when are you gonna learn? Man in his position'll say whatever suits him. You can't believe it. Now get outta my sight and bring that sawbones back here."

"Do you care what condition he's in?" Pablo asked.

"No, Pablo, I don't. Just make sure he's still breathin'."

"I doubt he can last long in this weather, Weed," Pablo said, "We'll be lucky if we can find his body."

Weed watched the men leave the shack and he turned to Pete. "Get the cards, let's play some poker.

* * *

The wind blew into Dillon's face, sending snow spraying into his eyes. Buck had slowed down considerably, unsure of his footing, and Matt knew they needed to find shelter and wait out the storm. He glanced over toward Chester, who was huddled down into his coat as far as he could be, his hat pulled down low over his face. Dillon yelled to be heard above the howling wind.

"Chester, head over toward those rocks. Let's see if we can't find a cave or some other kind of shelter."

Goode nodded and the two men rode toward the shale cliffs. Dillon went as far as he could on Buck, then dismounted the animal and led him through the more narrow trails, Chester following behind. Matt shivered inside his coat, scanning the blanket of white for some kind of area that offered even a small amount of protection from the harsh elements. Finally he spotted a flat area with a deep alcove that would at least hold off the wind from three sides. Dillon led Buck to it, and waited for Chester to catch up.

"Let's unsaddle them and hobble 'em just inside here on the left, there's enough room for the two horses and at least they'll be out of the snow and wind."

"Yes sir, Mr. Dillon."

The two men removed their saddles and while Chester hobbled the horses, Matt built a small fire using twigs and brush from inside the alcove. Chester walked over with some jerky, a canteen, fixings for coffee and two blankets. Dillon took the blanket Chester offered him and threw it over his shoulders.

"It's gonna be awful cold up here tonight, Mr. Dillon."

"Yeah."

Chester chomped on a piece of jerky. "Wonder if Doc's okay..."

Dillon's eyes colored with concern, but all he said was, "Doc's a tough old buzzard, Chester."

"Sure hope he's somewhere warm."

"Yeah," was all the big marshal said, not wanting to consider any of the alternatives.

The two men finished their meal in silence, and Chester poured two cups of coffee.

"This'll help warm us up, Mr. Dillon."

"After you've had some coffee, Chester, you should try and get a little rest while you can. Once this storm lets up enough for us to travel, we'll push on."

"Yes sir." Goode studied Dillon for a moment, noting the deep-set worry in his eyes, which was even more pronounced in the reflection of the shimmering firelight. "You're awful fretted about him, aren'tcha..."

Matt's eyes flicked up to meet Chester's deep brown ones and he nodded. "Yeah."

But they both knew there was nothing to be done until the storm lightened up. Chester said nothing more as he silently sipped his coffee; but his eyes never left the tense figure sitting across the fire from him. Dillon gazed out over the rock formation, watching the falling snow being tossed around by the wind, and he prayed that Doc wasn't out in it.

* * *

Adams trudged on, not having any idea where he was going nor even what direction he was headed. The severity of the storm had increased twofold, and he briefly considered finding shelter to avoid the whiteout conditions; however, the thought of Weed Watkins catching up to him continued to propel him forward, despite the difficulty. He wrapped his left arm around his right side, trying to support the rib that sent jabbing pain into him with each step, and he held his other hand in front of his eyes trying to block the swirling snow from pelting him. Doc shuffled along in the drifts, the oversized boots he had taken from Bill causing him to stumble more than once, but each time, the old physician pulled himself back up and kept moving.

After more than an hour of walking through the heavy snow, Adams had no idea where he was, nor how much further he might be able to push his exhausted and aching limbs. He shivered violently inside the coat that was too large for him, and wished he had a hat and gloves. And the reality of his quickly deteriorating situation closed in on him: his rapidly dissipating body heat would overpower him if he didn't find some place to ride out the worst of the storm. Once again, Adams tripped in the snow, this time falling awkwardly onto his right side. A cry of pain issued from his lips, although through the howling wind not even an animal could have heard him. For a moment, Doc just lie still in the wet flurries, waiting for the stabbing agony to subside.

Letting out a long sigh of air, Doc opened his eyes and tried to see what was around him, but all he could make out was the blurry shapes of what he thought might be a few trees. His instinct told him he had to be headed into the steepest of the hill country, littered with rocks and boulders, crevices and canyons, and any misstep on his part could be his last. But his options were few. If he didn't at least try to keep moving, he'd die in the exposed elements, or be caught by Weed Watkins. Neither possibility appealed to him. Bone weary and slightly woozy from the blow he had inflicted on himself trying to overpower Bill, Doc forced himself to stand back up and move toward the outlines of what he hoped were trees.

* * *

"We wouldn't be able to see a charging buffalo if he were right next to us in this snow!" Jimmy bellowed, trying to be heard above the driving wind.

Bill glared at him from under the brim of his hat. "We can't go back, Jimmy, Weed'd beat us silly."

"You should have thought on this before, amigo; before you let that old man take advantage of you." Hecha pulled his horse up and pulled up on Bill's reins, leaning in close to see Bill's eyes. "And you did let him take advantage of you, didn't you..."

Bill looked away. "I didn't see the purpose in lettin' Weed kill him. At least this way he has a chance."

Hecha shook his head in disgust. "You're too soft, pequeño, much too soft. Come on, we can find shelter in some of the rocks up ahead until this storm calms."

The three men led their horses toward the rock formations that they knew were about 50 yards ahead of them. Bill wondered if Adams had wandered into the area and if they would stumble upon him. Some small part of him hoped not.

* * *

Doc slipped once again on the jagged rocks that protruded from under the icy snow, and with a grunt of discomfort he just lie there, his panting breath emitting husky gasps from his chest. He wasn't going to be able to go on, and he knew it. What extremities didn't hurt from the frigid cold, ached from exhaustion and the beating he took from Weed Watkins not 24 hours earlier. Shivering, he rolled onto his belly and crawled toward an alcove he thought he could see in the rocks. At least he would be able to huddle under it for warmth until the storm let up a bit. But the swirling whiteout had prevented him from being able to see that it wasn't an alcove at all, but a deep crevice in the rocks.

Doc Adams fell before his mind had even registered that he had slipped from a cliff.


	7. Chapter 7

Charlie huddled closer to the warmth of the fire, rubbing his hands in front of it. The snow had been falling most of the night and the trail had become impossible to ride, forcing him to stop and seek refuge under a thick glade of trees. He glanced at the saddle bags lying next to him and felt a sharp stab of guilt; the sense that his brother was in grave danger was growing stronger with each passing hour. He closed his eyes against it, but he couldn't shut out the look of disappointment on his brother's face, nor his own callousness for turning his back on Lenny when he needed him; and for a brief moment, Charlie felt the sting of despair. But he allowed it only a momentary hold on him before forcing himself to shake it off like snowflakes from his jacket.

He poured himself another cup of coffee and once again stared out at the falling snow. Charlie wondered how long the storm would continue to blanket the prairie, for he was anxious to leave. The sooner he made it out of Kansas, the easier it would be to keep the disturbing thoughts of his brother from his mind. The wind suddenly gusted through the trees, howling as it rattled the branches, sending wild flurries in all directions. Charlie pulled his hat down to keep the cold particles from pelting his face, but it was almost as if some unseen force was punishing him for abandoning the brother who had loved and protected him all his life. His eyes began to tear, and even though he wanted to believe it was from the cold and wind, he knew it was from the hollow, black hole his soul had fallen into.

_Galen might already be dead._

Charlie didn't want to believe that; he _couldn't_ believe that. Galen was probably snug and warm in his own bed, while Charlie was out in the middle of nowhere Kansas chilled to the bone from the night's storm. But the nagging sense that his big brother wasn't safe from harm continued to gnaw at him from the inside out, and for the first time in his life, Charlie felt truly alone.

And suddenly the bitter taste of fear filled his mouth.

* * *

He tried to form a rational thought, but his mind seemed terribly hazy. Doc's consciousness pushed against the dense fog, fighting its way out of the blackness of oblivion. As he began to stir, he sensed an ache in his left shoulder that quickly progressed into sheer agony with awareness. He forced his eyes to open and couldn't see anything. Panic rushed him, causing his body to jerk with fear, the movement sending sharp pains down his shoulder into his arm. Doc cried out and then made himself lie still, taking deep breaths to calm down. He rubbed his right hand over his eyes, and discovered that they were covered with coagulating blood. After a few passes with his sleeve, his eyes began to focus and he squinted to try and make out his surroundings. There was a small amount of dim light from above, and after a few minutes, Doc understood the precarious nature of his predicament. The crevice he had fallen into was jagged with rocks, and the only reason he wasn't lying dead at the bottom was due to the fact that his shoulder was wedged between two of them, snapped in at least two places, being held together only by torn muscle and flesh.

His heart skipped a beat, and Doc let out a slow sigh of air. He couldn't afford to move, even a little bit, or his shoulder might give away entirely, sending him plummeting downward into the abyss below. But the torment radiating from his broken limb was so excruciating, some part of him wished it would release him into the painless bed of death. Thankfully, the doctor in him emerged to take charge of his conscious thoughts, and Adams compelled himself to assess his condition. From the blood he had to wipe away from his eyes, he guessed that his face and head were full of cuts and contusions, but other than a slight headache, it was not a concern; his legs, dangling freely below him seemed undamaged, as his right arm appeared to be. His left side had sustained the bulk of the damage, making the right rib Watkins had broken the night before feel like a bare twinge of discomfort in comparison.

His first priority had to be stabilizing his balance on the rocks. Carefully, Doc allowed his legs to reach out for something to push against, and after a few gentle tries, both feet were pressing on the walls of the crevice. Painfully Adams reached his right hand around the rocks, feeling for a solid grip; his only chance at survival was to free himself, and try to climb out using his legs and right arm. After a minute or so, his hand tightly grasped a rock about half a foot above his head. Taking a few deep breaths in preparation for the onslaught of agony, Doc pulled with his right arm and pushed with his legs, attempting to free himself.

But after about thirty seconds of exertion, he passed out from the pain.

* * *

Kitty couldn't sleep. She threw back the covers, stood and wrapped her robe around herself against the chill in the room. The howling wind shaking the panes of the windows sent a shiver up her spine. She stirred the logs and embers in the fireplace and added some more wood. Kitty pulled back the curtain slightly and watched the snow shower silently down on Front Street; in contrast to the wind, the flurries quietly went about their business of covering the earth in a blanket of white.

She glanced at the clock on the mantle which read three in the morning. Yawning, and facing the reality that sleep would continue to elude her, Kitty poured herself a small snifter of brandy and sat down in the chair by the window, occupying her thoughts with the storm outside. But her eyes wandered to the staircase across the street, and the darkened office above it. Her eyes glossed over with unshed tears as her mind once again played through the events which lead up to her dear friend's abduction, and the ruthless actions of the younger brother that she knew Adams loved with all his heart. How anyone could harm a soul as gentle as Doc's was beyond her; the fact that it was Doc's brother made it all the more cruel. Kitty took a larger sip of brandy, trying to pull the edge off of the anger that embedded itself into her chest.

Her eyes were suddenly drawn to the upstairs window of Doc's office, and the low flickering light radiating through the curtains. For a moment Kitty was unable to move, nor even draw a breath. Anger filled her with the thought that Matt had not come to tell her that Doc was safe; but a moment later, the alternative possibility struck her, and her eyes filled with tears. If Doc hadn't made it, Matt might well spare her from it, at least until the dim light of dawn. Jumbled and conflicted emotions flooded through her as she gasped for air in her lungs, overwhelmed with fear. She slammed her eyes shut and silently counted to ten, willing that only the outcome she wanted be true. But Kitty Russell had never been that kind of woman. She faced things head on, as life dealt them to her. A heavy sigh emitted from her lips as she slowly opened her eyes. There was no sense in putting off the inevitable. With shaky arms, Kitty pushed herself up from her chair, picked up her cloak and wrapped it tightly around her robe. She slipped her feet into a pair of shoes and quietly left her room.

Whatever the truth turned out to be, she and Matt would face it together. But Kitty silently prayed that she wouldn't find Matt grieving over Doc's lifeless body, lying on his own table.

* * *

His body shivering terribly from the cold, Doc moaned as he came around, wishing like hell that Weed Watkins had just shot him and been done with it. Allowing his head to rest against a rock, Adams tried to order his options in his distressed mind: the reality was that he was far too weak to pull himself out of the rocks, even if he could manage to stay conscious against the pain, and the possibility of anyone finding him down in some crevice in the middle of a Kansas snowstorm was highly unlikely.

The overwhelming sense of his own mortality closed in upon him.

Doc closed his eyes in despair, and his mind turned to the people dearest in his heart. The thought of his little brother stung his eyes. Charlie had betrayed him, yet Adams couldn't feel anything other than unconditional love for him; that and fear over what would become of Charlie once he was no longer there to protect him. And what of the other lost soul in his life whom he always felt the need to protect? It was difficult to admit to himself how much he cared for Chester, given how he most often chose to display it; but now he had to hope that Goode recognized the insults and barbs for what they truly were - one man's deep affection for another. If not, he prayed that Chester would forgive him for never saying the truth of it out - not even in a drunken stupor at the Long Branch--

--And his heart seized in sadness. _Kitty. _ She didn't know - she couldn't know - how much he loved her. A cry of deep anguish issued from his lips as he recalled the last words he had said to her. How could he have been so insensitive and so utterly stupid? He ached to tell her it had all been a lie, said in anger; but he would never have that chance, and she would have to live with it. Doc swallowed hard and hoped that Matt would be able to set it right. If there was anyone Doc could count on, it was Matt Dillon.

_Matt could set it right._

"Matt," Doc's weak voice whispered, "Matt...please help me."

* * *

Matt started awake from a troubled sleep. Chester's concerned voice came at him from a few feet away.

"Mr. Dillon? Are ya all right, Mr. Dillon?"

"Yeah," Dillon breathed heavily, "yeah..."

"Were ya havin' a bad dream?"

Matt glared at his assistant. "What makes you think that?"

Chester shrugged. "You was kinda tossin' and turnin' and moanin' in your sleep, Mr. Dillon." Goode's large brown eyes stared into the frightened blue ones across from him. "Guess you're just awful worried about Doc..."

Matt licked his lips. "Yeah." The two men stared at each other for an awkward moment, then Matt said, "Is there any more coffee, Chester?"

"Yes sir, I made a fresh pot a little while ago." He watched Dillon pour himself a cup. "Are we leavin' soon?"

"Yes we are."

Chester looked out into the dim light of morning; a light further dulled by the heavy snow still falling. "It don't look like the storm's let up much at all..."

"No, I don't suppose it has." Chester looked at Dillon, a silent question in his eyes. "We have to find him, Chester, and we can't wait for this storm to quit."

"No sir," Chester said quietly, "I don't 'spose we orta if ya think he's out here lost in the snow somewheres."

Dillon's eyes pierced Goode's with their intensity. "I have a terrible feeling that Doc needs our help real bad, Chester."

Chester stood up. "Then what're we waitin' for, Mr. Dillon? Let's get packed up and get on out there..."

* * *

Kitty shivered as her hand unsteadily reached for the doorknob of Doc's office, although she knew damned well that her shuddering was not from the cold alone. Taking a deep breath, the redhead opened the door and walked in, startled to see Charlie sitting at Doc's desk.

"Charlie!"

The younger Adams whirled in the desk chair to face her, his eyes red and his cheeks stained from tears. "Miss Russell," he said sadly.

Kitty walked into the room, closing the door behind her. "What are you doing here?" She asked coldly.

"I was looking for Galen."

Kitty forced her rising anger down. "You know damned well that Weed Watkins has him. Why did you come here?"

Charlie's eyes darted away from hers, unable to meet her hard stare. "I...I wanted to see if the marshal..."

His voice died away, but he didn't need to finish the statement.

"You wanted to see if Matt saved Doc and got you off the hook. You're a real gem, Charlie, you know that?"

"I don't blame you for being angry--"

"--Angry? You think I'm _angry_?" She glared into his stunned eyes and lost any control she had tried to maintain. "I'm not angry, I'm furious. I'm appalled and I'm disgusted. I'm so far past angry, Mr. Adams, that you should consider yourself lucky that I haven't taken my rage out of your worthless hide with a dull spoon. How you even have the nerve to come crawling back here is beyond me. You left knowing that Weed Watkins was going to kill Doc if you didn't cough up the money; you didn't even have the decency to go to Matt when you first discovered he was missing. How in the hell could you do that to your own brother?" Her voice began to shake with unbridled emotion, "How could you do that to a man who has never been anything but good to you?" Her voice tightened and raised in pitch, "You might not have a conscience, Charlie, but don't you have any damned feelings for the brother who raised you like a son--" Kitty's voice broke and she abruptly turned away from Adams. "My God," she whispered, "don't you have any love for him at all?"

For a long moment, Charlie just stood there, staring at the overwrought woman. He swallowed hard and took a tentative step toward her, his voice soft and low, "I love my brother very much, Miss Russell."

Kitty turned to face him, fresh tears still rolling down her cheeks. "Those are just words, Charlie, and I don't think you have the slightest idea what they mean."

His voice resonated with sadness and guilt, "Miss Russell, you don't understand the situation--"

"--Charlie, I'm not interested in your explanations, reasons or excuses." She stared hard into the pale blue eyes that were so familiar. "And I think you're the one who doesn't understand the situation; Weed Watkins is gonna kill Doc if Matt doesn't find him in time..."

Charlie nervously rubbed a hand over his chin. "He has to find him," he said softly. "He just has to..."

Kitty glared at him. "And if he doesn't, God help you, Charlie. If Doc dies--"

"--No! Don't say that, Miss Russell." He swallowed hard and looked at her, pleading, "_Kitty_... please don't say that--"

Unable to face his own guilt and fear, Charlie brushed past Kitty, grabbed his hat, coat and saddle bags, and left quickly, softly closing the door behind him. Kitty turned toward the closed door, and the sound of the howling wind pressing up against the glass filled her ears. Tears silently spilled down her face as she stared stoically in his wake.

"Please God, please help Matt find him..."

* * *

Pablo walked ahead, leading his horse by the reins, Jimmy and Bill a few yards behind. The snow was still coming down heavily, the gusting wind sending it swirling, making visibility next to impossible. Jimmy had to yell to be heard above the noise.

"We're not gonna find him out here like this, Bill," he said, "and if we do, he'll be dead. He didn't have no horse, ner supplies, ner nothin'."

"Yeah, I know," Bill answered.

They followed behind Hecha silently for a few minutes, when Pablo stopped, kneeling on the ground.

"Find somethin'?" Bill asked.

"This section of snow here," Pablo said, "it's sitting differently than the rest."

"So?"

"So it means something was here not long ago."

"Something?"

"Someone," Pablo said, looking up at Bill and Jimmy from under the brim of his hat. He glanced ahead, toward the rock formation. "If I was that old man, I would have gone up there," he said, pointing toward an area that offered some shelter.

Bill swallowed hard. "He's probably dead already from the cold..."

Pablo's eyes narrowed. "You sound as if you're hoping for that, amigo."

Bill's mouth twitched slightly. "Might be easier for him than Weed gettin' on him."

Pablo shook his head. "You'd better try and get it straight in your head, Billy. Do you want to ride with your brother, and have a lot of money? Or do you want to be some kind of plough-boy and have nothing?" When Bill didn't answer, Pablo stood. "Come on, we are wasting time."

They began walking toward the outcropping of rocks where Doc was trapped...


	8. Chapter 8

She had lost track of how long she'd been sitting at Doc's desk. Her fingers ran the rubber tubing of the stethoscope through her hands absently, as her mind focused on Matt coming home with Doc, safe and sound. She didn't hear the door to the office open and gently close, and when the big man's soft voice spoke, she started.

"I thought I might find you here."

Kitty looked up into the weathered face of her dear friend, and forced a slight smile to her lips. "Sorry Sam, I should have left you a note."

"It's all right, Miss Kitty. When I didn't find you at the Long Branch or the marshal's office, I figured this is where you'd be." He took a few steps closer to her. "It's awful cold in here..."

She looked up into his caring brown eyes and had to fight the tears forming in her blue ones. "Yes it is, Sam. I guess I just didn't think about it."

He gently removed the stethoscope from her hands, setting it in the open bag on Doc's desk. "I've made a strong pot of coffee over at the Long Branch," he offered.

"What time is it, Sam?"

"Quarter after seven, ma'am."

Kitty nodded. "No sign of Matt or Chester, huh?"

"No ma'am. Not yet."

She nodded, looking down at her hands. "The storm lighten up any?"

"A little, Miss Kitty, but not that much." He placed a soft hand on her shoulder. "Come on, let's go have some coffee."

She allowed Sam to help her out of the chair, and was grateful when he took his large coat off, and wrapped it around her. The big bartender put his arm around her shoulder, and quietly led her away from Doc's office.

* * *

"Over here, Bill," Jimmy yelled, "there's some kinda tracks over here!"

Bill made his way toward the edge of the sheltered cliff and peered over the side, but the jagged crevice was dark, and he couldn't see anything. Jimmy pointed toward the sliding marks Adams had left in the snow on the edge, and Bill frowned.

"He musta fallen over the side, Bill," Jimmy said quietly.

"Yeah," Bill said softly, "it looks that way."

Pablo walked up behind them. "I've tied up the horses, what did you find?"

"Jimmy found some tracks. It looks like the ol' sawbones fell over the edge of the cliff."

Hecha leaned over the side of the crevice, staring blankly into the abyss. "I don't see nothing down there."

"Neither do we," Bill said. "He's probably dead."

"Probably will not be good enough for your brother, amigo. We need to be sure."

"How the hell we gonna do that, Pablo?" Jimmy asked. "It's dark and there ain't no way to see to climb down in there."

"One of us will have to be lowered by a rope," Hecha answered calmly.

"I ain't doin' it," Jimmy said.

The two men looked at Bill who sighed heavily. "Yeah, I know, I'm Weed's brother, so I gotta do it."

Pablo smiled and shrugged. "You said it amigo, not me." Hecha headed toward the horses. "I'll get the rope."

Bill sighed heavily. "I can't wait..."

* * *

Doc thought he heard voices, but they sounded terribly far away. One of them was familiar, yet he couldn't place it. He tried to force his mind to focus on them, but he was so very tired...

_"I'm the Indian, and you're the cowboy, and I caughtcha on a scoutin' trip, and I'm gonna tie ya up and torture ya!" Charlie grinned gleefully. "Don't move, Lenny, I'll get the rope!"_

"_I can't wait," Galen answered with a slight smirk._

_The little boy took off at a run, and Galen stretched out on the hay in the barn, folding his arms underneath his head. He stared idly up at the wooden crossbeams that Mack Adams had built before Galen had been born. A smile curved his lips as he considered how like their father Charlie was becoming. Even now, at the age of six, Galen could see the build of his little brother, and in it, he envisioned the tall figure of his father. The intense pale blue eyes that managed to sear through flesh and bone, left nothing of the innermost private soul unturned; and to stare into Charlie's eyes was like peering into a window of the past. The small smile that had curved his lips only moments before, disappeared into a straight line of sadness and guilt._

_He rolled over on his side, curling up slightly, willing the pain in his heart to abate before Charlie returned; there was no reason for his baby brother to ever know the truth. And if Galen had his way, the boy never would. He heard Charlie approaching; he sat up, quickly wiping his face._

"_I got the rope, Len!"_

_Galen smiled. "Are ya gonna tie me up to a totem pole, or just tie me to a stake in the ground?"_

"_I'm gonna stake you to the ground like the Osage!"_

_Galen stood up. "Okay, Little Eagle, you'd better get to it, because I've got chores that need doin'!"_

_Charlie grabbed his big brother's hand and led him out into the barnyard. The six-year-old pounded four small, wooden stakes into the ground and then pointed at his brother._

"_You, white man, lie down!"_

_Trying to keep a smile from his face, Galen complied. "All right, chief, whatever you say..."_

_Galen stretched out in the dirt, and Charlie tied his hands and ankles to the stakes in the ground. The elder Adams watched with amusement while his little brother performed some kind of war dance around him, until the voice from the porch caused Galen to start._

"_Galen! What are you doing? There's chores to be done; for Charlie as well. Stop foolin' around and git to it!"_

_He looked up at his mother and yelled, "Yes ma'am." He glanced at his brother who had ceased his chanting and dancing. "Come on, Charlie, untie me." The impish grin on his baby brother's face sent a shimmer of irritation down Galen's back. "Come on, Charlie, I ain't kiddin'... Mama'll have our hides if we don't get movin'."_

_Charlie shook his head. "I think I'm just gonna leave you tied up, pale face!"_

"_Charlie," Galen warned, "you'd better do as I say and right now!"_

_Charlie giggled, unaware of the predicament in which he was placing his brother. "No!"_

_Galen tried to pull up on the stakes, but they didn't budge. "Charlie! Untie me!"_

"_No!"_

_Charlie giggled again and ran off toward the barn._

"_Charlie!" Galen yelled at the little boy, "Charlie, you come back here!"_

_But it was too late. He heard the squeak of the screendoor from the porch and felt his mother's angry footsteps approaching. A moment later her enraged face loomed into view._

"_Galen, I told you to stop this foolishness, and I meant it!"_

"_I know, mama, I--"_

"_--You've got chores." She glanced around the yard, and then glared at her older son. "Where did Charlie get off to? That boy hasn't done a single thing but play all day long. How many times must I tell you to keep that child in line, Galen?"_

"_Yes mama. I'm sorry." He swallowed hard, dreading what he had to ask next. "Mama, could you please untie me?"_

"_I'll untie you so you can go get the switch fer me."_

"_But mama, I--"_

"_--Arguin's just gonna make it come worse, Galen. I've told you a hundred times not to spoil that child, so now I'm going to teach you that there's outcomes to just lettin' that boy run wild."_

"_Yes mama," Galen answered softly, resigned to his fate._

_Charlie watched from the safety of the barn as his mother untied his older brother, and the two of them walked into the house. A few moments later he heard the quick swishing of the birch stick and the crack as it bit into his older brother's flesh, and he ran to hide in the loft of the barn, burying his face into his knees. After several minutes, Galen wailed from the pain of the beating and finally the sounds ceased. Tears streamed down Charlie's face, knowing that Galen had once again been beaten for something _he_ had done. The silent tears stretched into small cries, which turned into audible blubbers and finally into broken sobs. He didn't hear his older brother climb up into the hay loft and kneel beside him, so when Galen put a hand on his head, Charlie jerked away, startled._

"_It's okay, Charlie, it's just me."_

_The small child looked up into his brother's reddened eyes and sobbed, "I'm sorry, Lenny. It was all my fault, I'm sorry!"_

_Galen pulled Charlie into his arms, holding him tightly. "It wasn't your fault, Charlie. Mama took a shine to whippin' me cuz I haven't done my chores. You didn't have anything to do with that."_

"_I should have untied you," the boy cried. "I heard the switch, Len, she whupped you bad this time."_

"_Yeah...Listen, we'd better get to the chores, Charlie, before she comes out here and decides to do it again."_

_The frightened pale blue eyes stared into the mirror of calm. "I don't wanna go out there, Lenny, please don't make me. What if mama decides to whip me?"_

"_I won't let that happen, Charlie, and you know it."_

"_Please Lenny, please don't make me."_

"_Charlie, you got chores to do, and so do I."_

_The child began sobbing all over again. "Please, I wanna stay here. Please..."_

_Unable to bear his little brother's cries, Galen relented. "Okay, baby boy, okay, you can stay up here. I'll take care of your chores; don't you worry about a thing."_

_He kissed the top of his little brother's head and Charlie squeezed his arms tightly around his brother's middle. Galen stood up, grimacing from the pain on his backside._

"_Did she hurtcha bad?"_

"_Bad enough, Charlie." He tousled the head of dark curls. "But don't you worry about it, I'm fine. Just stay up here, and I'll take care of everything; but don't be late when mama calls us for dinner, okay?"_

"_Okay, Lenny." Galen climbed down the ladder of the hayloft and Charlie called to him as he hit the door of the barn. "Len?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_You're the bestest brother ever."_

_Galen smiled slightly and nodded before walking out of the barn; he had at least two hours of hard work ahead of him if he was to accomplish both his chores and Charlie's before dinner..._

* * *

Bill felt the sweat break out on his back as Pablo and Jimmy carefully lowered him on a rope into the crevice. He looked up into the rapidly diminishing light and yelled, "Okay, stop!"

The rope stopped lowering and Bill tried to let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the cavern. He thought he could make out a figure just to his right. He reached out tentatively and felt a body. Using his feet and hands, Bill maneuvered himself to where Doc was stuck, and gently reached around the doctor's upper body, attempting to free him. Adams cried out in pain as he came to.

Bill held the old doctor gently. "Easy Doc, I know you're hurtin'...I'm gonna try and getcha outta here."

Doc nodded, but could feel his eyes tearing up from the tremendous discomfort the movement was causing him. Bill pulled a match from his pocket and struck it against a rock. When the small light flickered into being, he gasped a sharp intake of air as he realized the predicament Adams was in.

"Jesus, Doc, you're in a bad way."

Doc nodded again, but couldn't hold off the pain enough to speak.

Bill let out a small sigh of air. "I'm gonna try and pull your shoulder outta them rocks."

Adams shook his head, whispering, "I don't think I can stand it, son...the pain'll probably kill me."

"I can't jes' leave ya here like this, Doc."

The inevitability of the truth closed in on him. "No, I 'spose not."

Bill yelled up to his companions. "Jimmy, Pablo, I found him, but he's wedged between some rocks. His shoulder's messed up pretty bad."

"Just get him up here," Pablo yelled down, "you are not that light to balance, amigo."

"All right, it'll be a minute or so, keep a tight hold." He put a soft hand on Doc's right shoulder. "I'm gonna pull you up from your trousers and your right arm. The only way to get ya loose'll be to lift you up and out."

Doc nodded and tried to prepare himself for the pain which was to come, but even the old physician couldn't have anticipated the agony of Bill's attempt to free him. Doc screamed at the white hot pain that seared through him.

"Bill!" Jimmy yelled down into the crevice, "Bill! What happened?"

"Ol' sawbones is hurtin' bad... He's in here pretty tight. I'll try it again..."

Bill tried again to free the old physician, and Adams howled in agony before passing out cold.

* * *

Dillon pulled up on his reins, listening intently. "Did you hear that, Chester?"

"Hear whut, Mr. Dillon?"

Matt's eyes narrowed under the wide brim of his stetson. "I thought I heard..." The big man shifted in his saddle, shaking his head. "Never mind, Chester."

The two men moved slowly along the base of a huge rock formation, continuing to be pelted by the swirling snow. An echo of a tortured caterwaul brushed Matt's ears again. He looked up into the cliffs.

"Mr. Dillon? What was that?"

"That's what I thought I heard a moment ago, Chester."

"Sounded like some poor wounded animal caught in a trap."

Dillon's eyes pierced Goode's. "Or a man."

Matt spurred Buck up toward the jagged rocks, and a second later, Chester followed.

* * *

"_Come on, boys, dinner!"_

_Charlie raced into the house, and sat at the table across from his sister. He reached for the warm rolls in the woven basket, and Gladys slapped his hand._

"_Ow!"_

"_Just wait you little heathen. Mama hasn't said grace yet."_

_Charlie glared at his sister. "Grace, Grace, Grace... I'm tired o' waitin' fer her, she don't never come no matter how many times we call her!"_

"_Grace is a prayer over the food, stupid, not a person."_

"_Grace is too a person. She's in my class at school."_

_Gladys rolled her eyes and decided to ignore him for the rest of the meal. Ruth set the plate of fried chicken down and the bowl of mashed potatoes next to it._

"_Where's Len?"_

"_I don't think he's finished his chores yet, mama."_

"_Well he knows the rules of this table if he misses grace."_

_Ruth hesitated for a moment, then sat down and folded her hands. Gladys immediately followed suit, and after a glare from his mother, so did Charlie._

"_Be present at our table, Lord; be here and everywhere adored; these mercies bless, and grant that we may strengthened for thy service be. Amen."_

"_Amen," Gladys echoed._

_Charlie reached for the rolls just as the door opened and his older brother walked in. Realizing he had missed grace, Galen frowned slightly._

"_I'm sorry I'm a little late for the table, mama," he apologized, "the chores took a lot longer than I tho--"_

"_--Save it, young man. You know the rules of this house. If you can't be here in time to say thanks to the Almighty, you don't eat."_

_Charlie stopped in mid-bite, his eyes growing wide; while his mother had always spoken of this rule, he had never seen it enforced._

_Galen looked down at his hands. "Mama, I didn't mean--"_

"_--Galen, go to your room."_

_He stared at her for a moment, but still feeling the sting of the welts on his backside, he slowly turned and left the room. Charlie looked at his mother in disbelief, and unfortunately she saw it._

"_Do you have somethin' to say, boy?"_

"_N-no, mama, I 'spose not."_

"_You 'spose not, or you know not?"_

_He swallowed hard, then said, "Lenny was workin' awful hard..."_

"_And?"_

"_Wull I'm kinda hungry and I didn't do near as much as Lenny. He must be real hungry, mama."_

"_You must not be hungry at all, boy."_

"_Yes I am--"_

"_--No, you musn't be. Because if you was you wouldn't be sayin' nothin' outta turn." She held his eyes tightly with her own. "You're excused from the table, boy."_

"_But mama--"_

"_--_Now_, Charles, unless you want the switch like Galen got."_

_Wordlessly Charlie got up from the table and left the room. If Gladys thought to say anything in the defense of her brothers, the look on her mother's face kept her from saying it.  
_

* * *

_The room was dark, and Charlie could barely see the outline of his older brother lying on his bed. The boy lit the lantern on the small table by the door and after a minute of indecision, walked over and sat on the edge of Galen's bunk._

"_Lenny?" His small voice asked._

_Galen remained motionless on his stomach, with his head facing toward the wall. His voice was flat as he answered, "Yes?"_

"_Are you mad at me?"_

"_No, Charlie, I'm not mad at you."_

"_I'm sorry you got in trouble cuz of me."_

_Galen turned his head to look at his little brother. "It wasn't your fault, Charlie. Mama overreacted."_

"_She always over...eee...overacts..."_

_The elder Adams smiled slightly then. "Over_re_acts, Charlie. It means feeling more angry over something than you should."_

"_Oh." He thought for a second then said, "Seems like mama over-re-acts all the time." The large blue eyes stared hard into his older brother's. "Mama doesn't like me much, does she."_

_It wasn't a question, and Galen felt his stomach catapult into his throat. He gingerly rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his right hand, gently setting his left on Charlie's shoulder. "That's not true, Charlie. It's just that she's sorta been kinda angry with everything since papa died."_

"_I don't remember her before that, Lenny."_

_Galen brushed his fingers softly through the curly hair on the back of the child's head. "I know." He tried to think of a good excuse to explain away his mother's behavior. "It's that mama just has too much to do now, Charlie, takin' care of all of us and bringin' in the money. It makes her cranky sometimes. Understand?"_

_The little boy shrugged. "I guess so." He looked back into his older brother's soft eyes. "Mama sent me away from the table too."_

"_She didn't let you eat dinner?" _

_Charlie shook his head, and Galen's face flushed with anger. He rolled onto his backside to stand up, and grimaced in pain from the earlier whipping. As the older boy started for the door, Charlie grabbed his hand._

"_Lenny, don't say nothin' to mama...she'll just whup you again."_

_He stared into the saddened eyes looking up at him, and he knelt down, putting his hands on his little brother's arms. "Don't you worry about that, Charlie. It's one thing to send me to bed with no supper, but you're still growin' and you need to eat."_

_Charlie threw his arms around Galen's neck. "Please Lenny, please don't say nuthin'..."_

_Galen wrapped his arms around the little boy, holding him close, sighing deeply. "Anything, Charlie, it's 'don't say _anything_.'"_

"_Then don't say that neither."  
_

* * *

_Galen waited until Charlie had fallen asleep, then he softly crept from the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He felt his mother's eyes on him as he walked toward her, his hands buried deeply into the pockets of his pants. He stopped right in front of her chair, his eyes unable to meet hers._

"_What is it, Galen? You should be asleep."_

"_Could we talk, mama?"_

_Her eyes hardened into a dark color. "What about?"_

_His voice was small, "Charlie."_

"_Galen, there is--"_

"_--Please mama. _Please_."_

_Their eyes met and Ruth Adams softened at the magnitude of sadness and worry she could see in her older son's face. She sighed heavily. "All right, Galen. Sit down."_

_He swallowed hard at the idea of sitting, but gritted his teeth and slowly lowered himself into the chair next to hers, grimacing slightly when his straked flesh met the unforgiving surface of wood. Ruth felt a sting of regret. She threaded her fingers through the dense curls on her son's head; the waves of soft dark hair that were so like his father's._

_Her voice was much softer when she asked,"You hurtin' bad, Len?"_

_He nodded, looking away. "A little." His eyes darted to hers. "But that doesn't matter, mama." He swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to continue. "You sent Charlie to bed with no supper...he's just a little boy..."_

"_Goin' to bed one night with no supper ain't gonna harm him none," she snapped. "Maybe it'll teach him a lesson."_

_He couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice,"What lesson's that, mama?"_

_She glared at him. "Don't take that tone with me, Galen. You want the switch again?" Looking down at the table, he shook his head emphatically. "Good," Ruth said. "I know you mean right, Galen, you're a good boy. You always was softhearted. Your papa noticed that aboutcha right away when you was just a baby, and it was the reason he was always real gentle with ya. But softness ain't no way to raise a child like Charlie."_

"_What's so different about Charlie from me, mama?"_

"_You're dependable and plain to understand, Galen, but Charlie, he don't have them qualities. If you spoil a boy like him, he'll never learn responsibility. He needs a strong hand, and since your father ain't here to do it, it's up to me to see that he gets one."_

"_He needs love too, mama." His eyes clouded over with gray. "And so do--" But he stopped himself from completing the thought._

_Ruth searched her son's eyes and the unspoken fear in them surfaced. She took his strong hand in her own. "Galen, do you think that I've stopped loving you?" He shrugged, unable to meet her gaze. She kissed his forehead, and for a moment, pulled him into her, stroking his hair with her hand. "Oh my little love..." _

_The use of the pet name she had given to him when he was small acted as a salve on his wounded heart. With renewed hope, his eyes slowly raised to meet hers. "And Charlie?"_

_She stood then, turning her back to him, fiddling with the leftovers from dinner at the sideboard. "Oh Galen, why do you ask me such silly questions?"_

"_He needs you, mama," he said softly, "he doesn't even understand what makes him so sad that he cries himself to sleep at night."_

_She turned to face him, holding a plate of food, smiling nervously. "Oh Galen, you shouldn't embroider so." She set the plate of food down in front of him. "Here now, eat. I know you did more than your share of the chores..." Galen stared at her in disbelief, and she tousled his hair. "Galen, eat."_

"_What about Charlie?"_

"_Well what about him?"_

"_He didn't eat."_

_She sighed. "There's a plate of food there, Galen. Eat it, don't, or go feed it to the pigs...it just doesn't matter to me anymore; you're wearing me out."_

_His voice turned cold. "Good night, mama."_

_He stood, and Ruth quickly closed the distance between them, taking him by the arms. "I know that I've been terribly rough on you, Galen, but lately you have been pushing the edge of my patience." She raked her fingers through his thick, curly hair, remembering another time and another man. "You're so like him. So like your father." He met her eyes, but his remained cool. "Sit down my little love and eat. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."_

_Never breaking eye contact with her, he picked up the plate of food, his voice turning positively caustic, "I'll give it to Charlie and tell him it's from you. Even if it's just one night, he's going to believe that his mother cares about him."_

_Ruth watched her older son stalk out of the room in anger, taking the food she meant for him to the child she couldn't bear to look upon. The child who cost her the only man she'd ever loved; and for that, she could never forgive him.  
_

* * *

_Lying on his stomach and unable to sleep, Galen continued to stare in the dark at the little figure on the bed across the room from him. Galen could live with his mother taking out her anger on him, but Charlie was another matter. Her apparent inability to show even the slightest kindness to her youngest child, continued to gnaw away at him. He longed for his father's calm presence and loving smile. He missed the fishing trips, the picnics, and Christmas - oh how he missed Christmas. It wasn't the presents, or the tree, or even the singing of carols that he wanted, but the feelings of love and warmth that permeated every inch of the house and every corner of their hearts. It was a time of simple purity in his life, and one that he would never know again. His mother had been a different person before Mack Adams was taken from them, but in Galen's mind, not even a broken heart could excuse the liability she had placed on little Charlie. _

_The muffled sniffling snapped his attention to the small child in the bed across from him._

"_Charlie?" He said softly. "Charlie, you okay?"_

"_Y-yes," came the unsteady reply._

_Galen rolled onto his side facing his brother's bed. "Charlie," he cooed, "what's the matter?"_

"_N-nothing."_

"_Charlie," Galen said, "look at me." _

_His little brother turned in the darkness to face him, and even in the dim moonlight from the window, Galen could see his brother's tears._

"_Come over here." After a brief moment of hesitation, Charlie wordlessly padded across the room and cuddled up against his brother. Galen put an arm around him, pulling him closer. "It's okay, baby boy, there's nothing for you to cry about."_

"_I'm scared, Lenny," the small voice said._

"_What are you scared of?"_

"_That something will happen to you, and I'll be left all alone."_

"_Charlie...what makes you think something'll happen to me?"_

"_It happened to papa didn't it?"_

"_Well, that's different."_

"_How?"_

_Galen sighed. "It just is, Charlie. Nothin's gonna happen to me, and even if it did, you wouldn't be alone. You'd still have mama and Gladys."_

_Charlie shifted in Galen's arms, burying his face into his older brother's chest. "They don't love me like you do, Lenny," he whispered softly. "You can't ever leave me, Lenny, promise me you'll never leave me alone..."_

The echo of his little brother's pleas caused Doc to jolt back into consciousness. A gentle arm encircled the right side of his body, patting him slightly.

"Easy, Doc."

His foggy mind couldn't delineate between the past and the present. "Charlie? Thank God... You gotta help me, baby boy."

"It's Bill Watkins, Doc...I uh, haven't been able to get you loose from this rock."

Adams moaned in pain. "The rocks..." Then he remembered where he was and when. "I've really done it, haven't I?"

"Well, I ain't too sure how I can getcha out without pullin' your arm off."

Doc nodded slightly, his voice sounding groggy, "Might have to cut it off..."

"What?"

"Amputation..."

"Doc, you ain't talkin' in the third person. You're talkin' about _me_ cuttin' _your_ arm off."

"I know it," Doc growled. "Lose my arm or lose my life; ain't much of a choice."

Before Bill could comment, Adams heard a familiar voice yell from above. "Hey, you men there, what are you doing?"

Bill's rope dipped slightly before being pulled taut again as Pablo's voice said, "Don't come no closer, amigo, until you say who you are and what you want."

"I'm U.S. Marshal Matt Dillon, and I want to know who are you and what you're doing."

After a brief moment of horrific silence, gunfire erupted from above the crevice.

"Shit!" Bill exclaimed, trying to duck his head from stray bullets ricocheting off the rocks. He tried to shield Doc's body from the flying pellets of lead. "Keep your head down, Doc!" As the gunfight escalated, Bill felt the strength of the rope holding him begin to slacken. He yelled up to his partners. "Jimmy! Pablo! Don't let go!"

But the rope continued to slip, and Bill was no longer level with the spot where Adams was trapped. As the men above gave into the fight for their lives, the rope slipped.

"Doc!" Bill screamed as he felt his body falling toward the rocks below.

With all his might, Adams grabbed for the outstretched arm with his right hand, barely catching it.

Doc cried in agony as the weight of Bill's body tugged at his shattered limb caught between the two rocks above.

"Doc! Please Doc! Please help me!"

Adams gritted his teeth with pain, trying with all his might to hold onto the young man, knowing that at any moment, his shoulder would be ripped from his body, sending both of them plummeting to their deaths. Sensing that Adams was fighting a losing battle with consciousness, Bill tried to claw his way up Doc's right arm. His fingers were numb with cold and his palms slick with perspiration triggered by adrenaline, and Bill felt the hand of death begin to pull him. Doc looked into Bill's panicked eyes, and held the sting of tears as the inevitable pushed in on his consciousness. With one final wail of white hot torment, Adams tried in vain to pull Watkins toward him.

"I'm sorry, son," Doc muttered before everything went black.

Doc didn't hear Bill's death scream as he slipped from Adams' limp hand, his body careening down hundreds of feet, smashing into jutting rocks, eternally lost to the abyss below.


	9. Chapter 9

As the bloodcurdling scream echoed across the rock walls, Dillon and Chester froze for one eternal, heart-wrenching moment, which was followed by Matt's sorrowful utterance of a single word: "Doc."

Goode bolted from their alcove of cover, but Dillon grabbed the back of his suspenders, yanking him hard down into the shelter as bullets whizzed past their heads. "Chester!" The big marshal scolded, "What in the hell do you think you're doin'?"

"That coulda been Doc! We can't just leave him there, hurtin' like that..."

"Chester, those men out there will gun you down before you get anywhere near Doc."

"But what if he was hit by a bullet?"

Matt stared hard into the clouds of dark brown. "Chester, if we get killed, then Doc won't have any chance at all." He looked squarely into his assistant's eyes. "We can't even be sure if that was Doc, or if he's even still alive."

"Mr. Dillon!" Chester admonished, "Don't you dare say that. Just don't--"

Goode's voice broke and he looked away. Dillon slid a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder.

"How many bullets have you go left?" He asked softly.

Chester shrugged. "Full load in my rifle, and I got a few more here in my pocket...but it don't total much."

Dillon nodded and then looked toward the entrance of the crevice where Doc was trapped. "You men in there," He yelled, "I'll give you one last chance to throw out your guns and come out with your hands up."

After a long moment of silence, Pablo's accented voice answered, "Or else what, marshal? You'll come in shooting? There are two of you and two of us. You have no advantage here, so you are in no position to make demands."

"Maybe not," Dillon yelled back. "But we have access to food and water. You'll run out. We can wait..."

"Maybe you can, amigo, but your doctor friend cannot. He is in a bad way."

Chester looked hopefully at Matt. "Then Doc's still alive, Mr. Dillon!"

Matt forced himself to remain calm and levelheaded as he said, "I hope so, Chester, but he could just be saying that to get us to play his game." He pat Goode's arm. "It's time for us to call his bluff. Take my shotgun in addition to your rifle, and draw their fire, I'm going to circle around to the right of the entrance."

"Be careful, Mr. Dillon."

The big marshal smiled and nodded before pulling his six-gun from his holster, preparing to run. Goode peered out from the rock protecting him, took aim toward the cave entrance and shot off the rest of the rounds in his rifle, while Dillon ran toward the crevice. Chester followed it with two huge blasts from both barrels of Matt's shotgun. But unfortunately, Matt Dillon hadn't counted on the instability of the snow hanging off the rocks of the cliffs, and a delayed second or two later, the rumbling sound of an avalanche towered toward them.

* * *

Charlie was cold and tired as he approached the dilapidated shack in the Smoky Hills above Hays. When he was about twenty feet from the porch, he heard the cocking of a rifle, and froze.

"Just hold it right there, mister," a voice said from the darkened entryway.

Charlie recognized Pete and called out, "Pete, it's Charlie..."

After a moment the rifle uncocked and Weed's voice said, "Well, well, little Adams, we was beginnin' to think you didn't care none for that older sawbones brother of yours..."

Charlie dismounted and tied his horse up against a post, patting the animal's neck. "Don't worry boy, you won't be out here long," he whispered.

Adams walked across the porch and into the shack just as Pete was lighting an oil lamp inside. Weed slammed the door shut behind him, and shoved a cocked handgun into the back of his neck.

"You ain't carryin' no saddlebags, Charlie. Where's the money?"

"I'm not as stupid as that, Weed. If I had the money on me, you'd just shoot me and Galen."

Weed smiled as he uncocked the pistol, returning it to its holster. He walked around to face Adams. "You ain't none too smart, Charlie, tryin' to cheat me, sendin' me and the boys to jail in San Antone. That weren't none too smart at all."

Charlie smiled and shrugged easily. "Can't blame a fella fer tryin', Weed. It was a lot of money."

"And where is it now?"

Charlie glanced around the shack, but there was no sign of Galen, Pablo, Jimmy or Bill. "Where's my brother, Weed?"

"I've got him stashed away for safe keepin', Charlie, don't you worry none about that."

"You ain't gettin' a dime, Weed, not until I see that my brother's okay, and you let him go."

"You always was a big dreamer, Charlie. You see, if Pete and me don't show up at our meetin' place by a certain time with the cash, Billy's gonna blow that ol' sawbones' head clean off."

Pete glanced from one man to the other, wondering which was the bigger liar.

Charlie sat down, removed his hat, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well then, we're standin' in front of a big wall, Weed. No Galen, no cash. It's as simple as that."

Weed laughed as he sat down at the table with Charlie. "Then we really are in a small spot. I ain't givin' you nothin' until you return what's mine to me."

Charlie sighed, his smile growing. "You got any whiskey to help pass the time then?"

"I got all the time in the world, Charlie. It's that ol' sawbones of yours who don't." Weed grinned. "Pete, bring that bottle over here, will ya?"

"Sure, Weed."

Pete lifted a half-full whiskey bottle from a shelf and set it on the table in front of Weed, followed by a couple of coffee mugs. Weed poured a little whiskey into each and handed one to Charlie, who grasped it tightly in his left hand. The two men stared at each other for a long moment before either took a sip of the amber liquid. Then without warning, Charlie flung the contents of his mug into Weed's face, and pulled his gun. Watkins' hand easily slid to his pistol, and drawing it, he fired blindly across the table at the same time Charlie squeezed the trigger...

* * *

As the avalanching snow tumbled toward them, Dillon screamed to be heard over the deafening noise, "Chester! Take cover!"

Goode ran for the side of a cliff with a large overhang of rock, and pressed himself tightly against it, ducking his head under his arms. He could feel his breath panting hot against the cool limestone as the earth continued to shake with the force of the sliding snow. With no time to think through his options, Dillon dove into the exposed cave which held Pablo, Jimmy, and Doc Adams. Matt rolled as the two outlaws fired at him, missing him only by inches. Lying on his stomach, the marshal shot back, catching Jimmy squarely in the chest, and nicking Pablo in the arm. As the earth continued to rumble, the snow above the crevice entrance began to slide, covering up the only way out. Pablo dove wildly for the opening, only to be smothered under a wall of snow. Matt lunged in the other direction, covering his head with his arms, praying that he wouldn't be buried alive...

* * *

Pete plunged under the nearest chair, covering his head for fear of flying lead. But after the initial three or four crackles of gunfire, there was only silence, and the acrid smell of gunsmoke hanging over the small room. He peeked out from his vantage point of safety and stared at the two men lying on the floor on opposite sides of the wooden table. Carefully, Pete crawled out and cautiously approached Weed, but even from a few feet away, Pete could see that Weed's eyes were staring blankly up at the ceiling, as dead as the man himself. He glanced over at Charlie, but his eyes were closed, and Pete wasn't about to wait around to see if he was still breathing. He grabbed his gear and his coat, and headed out of the shack, jumping on Charlie's horse as soon as he hit the porch. Wherever the money was, it would most likely remain there now, as Pete assumed that Charlie was as dead as Weed. And that fact was just fine with Pete.

* * *

There was only silence surrounding him, until Chester let out the breath of air he'd been holding. He lifted his head and realized that he was unscathed; however, there was now a wall of snow surrounding him, directly under where the overhang of rock extended. But Goode was relieved to note that it hadn't buried him completely; there was still a half foot or so open up at the top. Chester began to mold handholds in the wall of packed snow, and slowly hoisted himself toward the top. He tried to balance himself with one hand and his two feet while using his other hand to push snow outward at the top of the wall, but he repeatedly lost balance, falling back to the bottom. And then he remembered that he had carried his rifle to the cliff with him. Goode picked up the weapon, and reaching with the butt of it toward the top of the wall, he began to push out the packed ice and snow a little at a time. But his progress was slow, and Chester figured it would take several hours to make a hole large enough for him to climb out. His mind wandered to his friends then, and he swallowed hard; he could only hope that both Doc and Mr. Dillon had fared the avalanche as well as he.

* * *

Matt pushed himself off of the cavern floor, shaking free the bits of snow and ice that had lightly covered him. He let out a slow sigh of air, silently thanking the Almighty that he was still alive. But now with the entrance to the crevice closed off, it was pitch black in the cavern, and if Dillon tried to move, he might wind up falling into a chasm. The big marshal reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a match, striking it against the zipper of his pants. As the light filtered through the cave, Matt walked through the small area, searching for Adams, but there was no sign of him.

"Doc?" The big man called. "Doc? Where are you?"

His question was met with only silence. As the match began to burn down, Matt gathered sticks and brush from the cave floor into a pile. He lit another match when the first one burned out, and collected enough fodder to start a small blaze. Once the fire was burning steadily, and he had assembled enough sticks and leaves to keep it going for awhile, he walked toward the wall of snow blocking the entryway. Pulling his gun from his holster, he struck the barrel into the snow and ice repeatedly, until he had several small cylindric holes that reached to the outside to allow the smoke from the fire to exit the cave, and also to keep some oxygen flowing in. He noted that he had to thrust his entire seven and a half inch barrel to reach the other side of the snow wall, and the force that he had to use had been considerable, just to make a small hole. Digging out was going to be a lengthy and difficult process. He could only hope that Chester was all right and would be trying to dig him out from the other side soon.

Satisfied that the enclosed space had enough air for the moment, Dillon returned his attention to finding Doc. Lighting a thick but short branch from the fire, Matt walked once again around the cavern, but there wasn't much room toward the back, and it didn't take him long to realize that Doc must have fallen into the crevice below. His heart sank with the thought that Doc was lying dead somewhere in the black chasm below. With a heavy chest and dry mouth, Matt lowered himself to his stomach, so that he could lean his makeshift torch over the side of the cliff. His breath contracted in his throat as he caught sight of the small doctor wedged limply and precariously between two jagged rocks, his shoulder jammed at an odd angle.

"Doc? Doc!" Dillon called, but Adams did not respond.

Matt stood up and looked around for anything he could use to lower himself down into the crevice, and he spotted a couple of saddle bags that belonged to the outlaws. Dillon rifled through them, and pulled out a couple of lengths of rope; however, he was unsure as to either the strength of the ropes, or that even tied together they would be long enough to reach the spot where Doc was stuck. The marshal sighed, for in the end it didn't matter, Matt knew he had to try.

He tossed his hat onto the floor and removed his gunbelt. Meticulously, Dillon tied the two ropes together to make one longer lead. Eyeing the rocks near the edge of the crevice, Dillon chose a fairly narrow, but apparently stout rock, and he tied a ring around it with one end of the rope. He added some brush and twigs to the fire to make sure it wouldn't expire while he was down in the crevice, and then he flung the free end of the rope down into the darkness of the pit below. Picking another branch as a torch, he lit it, and held it tightly in his left hand. Slowly and cautiously, Dillon climbed down the rope with his right hand, allowing his feet to walk down the limestone walls of the cliff. As he neared the body of his dear friend, the lump that had formed in his throat swelled.

Matt forced himself to shove his emotions aside as he found a slit between the rocks near Doc to wedge the torch into. Looking at the leftover rope below him, Dillon heaved a sigh, for it wasn't nearly enough to tie Doc's body to him and still leave enough room for the big marshal to begin scaling upward with any kind of a safety length. Shaking that reality off, Matt pulled the end of the rope up toward himself, and tied it into a tripod shape so that he could balance himself in the makeshift seat and have both hands free. Once supported by the end of the rope, Matt pulled himself toward Doc's unconscious body, praying that Adams was still alive. Gently Matt leaned the back of Doc's head against his chest, pulling up on the small doctor's lower body, trying to take the pressure off of his mangled limb. Adams moaned in pain, and Dillon brushed a soft hand over his forehead.

"It's me, Doc. It's Matt."

"Matt," the old man muttered hazily.

"It's a fine mess you've gotten yourself into this time, ya ol' country croaker. You couldn't have chosen a more difficult spot..."

"Yeah..." Doc swallowed hard, unable to remember the last time any water had passed his parched lips. "Hurts 'bout as good as it looks too..."

"I'm gonna lift you out, Doc, so just hang on."

Adams shook his head against the marshal's massive chest. "Weed Watkins' young whelp brother tried that, couldn't get it out." His voice softened to a whisper, "Might have to take it off, son..." Dillon slammed his eyes shut against the thought, and tried to steady his uneven breathing. "Matt? You okay?"

"I'd say I'm a damned sight better off than you are right now, Doc."

"That ain't sayin' too much."

"Maybe not." Dillon shifted Doc's weight against him slightly, preparing to try and pull him out. "All right, ol' boy, grit your teeth some, here we go."

With all his might, the big marshal of Dodge pulled Adams' dead weight upward from his waist, but instead of releasing the wedged shoulder, it only caused Adams to scream in agony.

"Matt! Stop! _Please stop_..."

Dillon moved closer, allowing Doc to lean his body weight against him. "Take calm breaths, Doc, let the pain pass, and we'll try this again."

"No," he said weakly, "please no more..."

"I have to, Doc. You know that I do." He stroked Doc's forehead and rested the back of the man's head against his chest once more. "Rest for a second longer, and then I'm going to move up above you a little to get more leverage, and then come heaven or hell, I'm lifting you out of here."

"That's gonna be awful dangerous, Matt," Doc breathed heavily. "You could lose your balance and fall to your death doin' it that way."

"That's my lookout, ol' boy. You just keep breathing. That's your job in all this."

"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to promise me that if it comes down to you or me, you'll let me go." Matt was silent for a long time, and the old man prompted, "Promise me, son."

"I can't," Dillon whispered. "I can't promise that, Doc."

"Now you listen to me, you stubborn galoot," Adams chastised, "one young man has already fallen to his death today tryin' to get me outta here, and I'll be damned if another one does. Especially you, Matt." Dillon was once again silent, and Doc growled, "Do you hear me, boy?"

"I hear you. Now you hear me, old man: I'm not leaving you here, I'm not cuttin' off your arm, and I'm not lettin' you fall. You got that?"

"Y-yeah," Doc's emotional voice cracked slightly, "I got it."

"Good."

Matt moved away from Doc slightly, and scaled upward a foot or so, figuring the distance would give him enough leverage to pull the much smaller doctor free. Bracing himself with his feet pressed into the crevice wall, Dillon reached down, gripping Adams' shirt.

"Okay, ol' boy, take a deep breath and try to stay with me."

Before Adams could think about it, Dillon yanked him upward with every last ounce of strength he possessed, pulling the little doctor free. Doc passed out from the searing pain almost immediately, and Matt hoisted him over his shoulder, balancing him carefully as he gripped the rope with both hands. Slowly, methodically, Dillon reached one hand over the other, his feet climbing up the walls, until finally he reached the edge of the crevice. With one last grunt of exertion, Matt folded Doc over the side, onto the floor of the cavern, the doctor's legs still dangling over the cliff, and Dillon crawled out. As gently as he could, Matt lifted Doc and carried him to the small fire, lying him down in front of it for warmth. And it was in the glowing firelight that Dillon could see Doc's pale color, his bluing lips, and the hideous damage the fall had inflicted on the doctor's shoulder.

"Aw, Doc..." Dillon said softly.

Matt removed his coat and covered Adams with it. Trying to keep warm himself, Dillon moved quickly to the saddlebags on the other side of the cavern, lugging them over to the fire. He emptied all the contents, and made a pillow out of the leather, gently setting Doc's head on top of them. He picked up the canteen and took a small swig of water, then poured a little between the old man's lips. Doc stirred, groaning.

"M-matt?"

"Right here."

"Pain's awful bad," Adams managed through gritted teeth.

"What do I do to stabilize your shoulder?"

Adams tried to think through a thick haze of hurt. "Need to tie the whole arm to my body so it can't move," he whispered.

"I don't have any gauze, Doc."

"Stripped material'd work..."

Dillon looked at his own shirt, and hated the idea of giving it up in the cold, but he couldn't see any way around-- And then his eyes landed on Jimmy's body. "Okay, I can immobilize your arm. Then what?"

"You gotta set it first, Matt, then tie it up."

Doc was fading slightly, and Dillon gently shook his leg. "Stay with me, ol' boy, or I won't know how to help you." Adams swallowed hard, trying to overcome the white hot stab in his arm. "Pain's almost more than you can take isn't it?" Closing his eyes, Doc nodded. "Would a little whiskey help?"

Doc's eyes snapped open. "You got some?"

Dillon grabbed the bottle that had fallen from one of the outlaw's saddlebags. "Yeah. Can't vouch for the quality of it, but it might take the edge off."

Doc nodded and Matt carefully poured a generous shot into the doctor's mouth.

"More..."

One of Dillon's eyebrows shot up slightly, but he gave Adams a little more. "Better?" Adams nodded, but Matt could see the whiskey hadn't done much to ease the pain. "Tell me how to set your shoulder, Doc."

"As far as I can tell, Matt," he breathed heavily, "my shoulder's busted in about four places. But that's just from the feel, I might be wrong without seein' it." Dillon let out a puff of air. "Steady, son, it's gonna hurt me a lot more than it is you," Adams said with as much of a grin as he could muster. All Matt could do in answer was pat Doc's cheek, and Adams noted the tears brimming in Dillon's eyes. "I know it'll be hard on you, Matt, but I need you to help me."

Dillon's voice was soft, "I'll do anything I can to help you."

Adams grasped Matt's hand with his strong right one. "I know you will, my boy." Adams pat Dillon's hand before letting go. "The tricky thing about this is that the muscle and tendons that usually hold the clavicle, scapula and humerus together are all torn..."

"In English, Doc."

"It means even if you get the bones back where they belong, they're not gonna wanna stay there. You'll have to try and immobilize my shoulder as quickly as ya can. Somethin' like this usually takes two people to handle." Dillon nodded, and Adams continued, his voice growing husky with fatigue and discomfort. "The acromioclavicular joint is a small bone that connects the clavicle and the humerus. I'm pretty sure its crushed."

"What do I do about it?"

"Well, Matt, I'm not completely sure about that. You see the deltoid and bicep muscles that groove into the top of the humerus are so torn up I couldn't move any part of this arm if I tried. I think maybe you should just try and patch it together as best ya can, immobilize it, and get me back to Dodge."

"And then?"

"I'm gonna need surgery, Matt. A specialist. But we'll cross that prairie if we get that far."

Dillon frowned, alarm setting in. "Do you think you'll lose the use of your arm, Doc?"

"I don't know. It's pretty bad."

"But Doc--"

"--Yeah, I know, there ain't much call for one-armed surgeons in these parts."

Matt swallowed and then took a breath. "Tell me how to set the bones, and I want it in as much detail as you can stand. Whatever we need to do to give your arm the best chance, that's what I want to know."

"So long as you remember, Matt, no matter what the outcome, none of this is on you..."

Dillon's countenance darkened slightly as he thought of the man who was responsible for Doc being abducted; the man who abandoned his brother for love of money; the man who didn't care what happened to one of the kindest souls that walked the earth: and it was then that Matt Dillon knew Charlie Adams would be beaten to within an inch of his life if the big marshal ever caught sight of him again.

"Matt? You all right, son?"

"Sure, Doc, I'm fine." _But if I ever catch up with that son-of-a-bitch brother of yours, he won't be..._

* * *

Chester climbed out of the top of the wall enclosing him, and pushed himself out through the hold he made with the butt of his rifle, tumbling to the hard ground in a heap.

"Ow!" After a moment, he picked himself up and looked around. "Mr. Dillon? Mr. Dillon!" He called to the big marshal, but there was no response. And then Chester saw the cavern entrance, encased in a wall of ice and snow. "Oh my lands..."

With a fervor usually reserved for madmen, Chester Goode began tearing into the wall with the butt of his rifle. "Mr. Dillon! Mr. Dillon, are you in there?"

But the cry continued to go unheard by the men trapped behind the wake of the avalanche.

* * *

Dillon was finishing the final tie on the strips of clothing he was going to use to wrap Doc's shoulder once he set the bones when he heard the faint sounds of scraping. He glanced down at Adams, but the man was out cold, exhausted from pain, frigid temperatures, no food or sleep. He looked over at the entrance of the cavern, and frowned: it was emanating from there. Dillon stood and walked over to the wall of ice, trying to peer out one of the small cylindric holes he had dug, but he could see nothing. The sound grew louder, and then he saw some snow fall inward. Using the butt of his handgun, Matt chipped away at the snow and ice, and finally he saw faint light peering through, and then finally what he thought to be a dark brown eye.

"Chester?"

"Mr. Dillon!"

"I'm glad you're okay."

"Are you all right, Mr. Dillon? Didja find Doc?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, and I found Doc, but he's in miserable shape. Busted his shoulder up pretty bad. I need to work on settin' it right now."

"Wull, can't it wait awhile? With two of us digging, we could get a hole large enough for a man ta git through in three or four hours. Then I can help ya with Doc."

Dillon shook his head, even though Chester couldn't see it. "I can't make him wait that long, Chester. He's hurtin' awful bad."

"Won't settin' it hurt him even worse?"

"In the short term, yes, but then it'll ease up some if the bones aren't rubbing against each other all wrong."

"If ya think that's best then. It's coming upon dusk out here, Mr. Dillon; I won't have light for much longer."

Matt licked his lips, coming to a decision. "Look, Chester, make yourself a fire and bed down for the night. I've got a one burning in here, and I've got enough sticks and brush to last. I'm gonna set Doc's arm, and then keep an eye on him. Tomorrow morning, you and I'll dig through this wall."

"Are ya sure, Mr. Dillon?"

"Yeah, Chester, I'm sure."

Chester frowned, not so sure that Dillon was making a wise decision. But all he said was, "Wull, if...if ya need something, just yell through this here hole. I'll bed down right next to it."

"Fine, Chester, fine."

Matt turned away and walked over to Doc, oblivious to his assistant's attempt to watch him through the small passage. Dillon knelt down and brushed a caring hand over Doc's brow.

"Doc? Come on, ol' boy, let's get that arm set."

"Ohhhhh...damn that's painin' me somethin' smart." The pale blue eyes looked into the shimmering ones. "You 'member what I told ya?"

"Yep."

"Then what're you waitin' fer?"

Dillon's intense eyes locked with Doc's. Matt gripped Adams' left wrist with his hands and placed the arch of his boot at the pivot of Doc's armpit. For a brief moment, Matt thought he saw fear register in the soft sea of blue staring at him, but if he had, it was gone in an instant. As quickly and strongly as he could, Dillon yanked Doc's arm up and out while pressing his left boot down to hold Adams' shoulder still, setting the clavicle back into its groove against the scapula. Even though he understood the agony he'd caused, Matt was not prepared for the cry of anguish coming from his dearest friend, and it startled him. Dillon froze.

Howling with distress, Adams screamed, "Finish it, Matt! Hurry up!"

Dillon reacted to the sound of Doc's voice and pulled straight out on the injured limb, snapping the humerus back into contact with the scapula. And again Adams screamed in misery, tears of pain sliding down his cheeks, his breath emitting in heaves as his heart worked overtime to compensate for the released blood flow from the nerves in Doc's shoulder that had finally been freed.

"Matt," Adams panted, "wait..."

Dillon stood still, not letting go of Doc's arm, but not making the final adjustment as he had been instructed. After a long minute of silence, the lawman swallowed hard.

"Doc?"

The dazed pale eyes rolled to meet Matt's, the pain in them almost more than the marshal could bear to see from someone so dear to him. "Just need a minute or two..." Not trusting his own voice, Dillon simply nodded. "Okay my boy," Doc whispered, "go ahead."

Holding his boot tightly at the pivotal point where Adams' humerus and acromioclavicular joint met, he pulled Doc's arm toward him, and heard the sound both men had dreaded: the grating of bone against jagged edges. Adams wailed in distress before passing out, and Dillon released the air he'd been holding in his lungs. As quickly as he could, Matt set on the task of wrapping Doc's left arm as tightly as possible to his body, before any of the bones had a chance to shift.

Several hours later, Adams moaned softly, and Matt's eyes snapped open. He moved closer to the doctor and could see the beads of perspiration that had broken out across Adams' forehead. Dillon lay a gentle hand over Doc's brow and the searing heat surprised him. Frowning, Matt doused a torn piece of fabric he'd ripped from Jimmy's shirt with water, and pressed it against the old man's forehead. The marshal poured a little water into Doc's mouth and gently rubbed his hand over the doctor's good shoulder. Adams moaned again, but this time in response to the comfort of Matt's touch.

Dillon changed the compress and watched his friend writhe in pain and delirium as his inner core temperature continued to rise. All Matt could do now was pray that Doc would make it through the night.


	10. Chapter 10

_Galen stared at the reflection in the mirror and smiled slightly, content in the old adage that a uniform could improve the looks of any man._

"_Lenny?"_

_Adams looked up in the mirror, his pale blue eyes meeting the younger ones so like his own. "Hmmm?"_

"_How long'll you be gone?"_

_The elder Adams turned to face his brother. "I don't know, Charlie. It could be a right long while."_

"_I want to go with you." _

_It was not a plea, but a demand._

"_You're too young, baby boy."_

"_I'm not too young, Galen," Charlie growled, "and don't call me a baby! I'm twelve years old!"_

_Galen put his wide hands on Charlie's shoulders. "I know how old you are, Charlie, and when I leave, you'll be the man of the house. You're going to have to care for mama and Gladys."_

_Charlie eyed his brother's uniform. "How come you're already an officer and you ain't done nothin' yet?"_

"_Haven't done _anything_, Charlie," Galen sighed. His little brother glared impatiently, causing Galen to smile. "It's because I've studied medicine for two years, Charlie."_

"_But you said yourself that you ain't a--" Charlie caught himself and corrected, "you _aren't_ a doctor yet."_

"_I guess the army figures I've got enough training."_

"_Soon as I can, I'm volunteerin' too."_

_Galen's eyes flashed fear and anger. "The hell you are, baby boy."_

"_I told you not to call me that," Charlie's changing voice crackled as he broke away, heading for the bedroom door._

_Galen put a large hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Charlie, please..." The younger boy shrugged out of his grip, and he sighed. "I don't mean it badly. I just..." Adams turned his brother around to face him. "You're my little brother, Charlie, and I don't wanna see anything happen to you; can you understand that?"_

_Uncomfortable with his older brother's candor, Charlie stepped toward the window, and stared out. "I don't want you to go, Lenny." Charlie implored softly, "I don't want you to leave me."_

_Galen could hear his younger brother's sniffles, despite Charlie's attempt to muffle them. He stepped closer, enclosing his arms around the twelve year old. "I'm not leaving _you_, Charlie; I just can't stand by and do nothing while the north and south tear each other apart."_

_The twelve year old turned, impetuously wrapping his arms around his older brother. "Promise me nothing will happen to you, Lenny. Please promise me..."_

_Galen held his brother close, swallowing hard. "Oh Charlie, I can't promise you that."_

"_Please Lenny," Charlie cried, "Please..."_

"_I can't lie to you..." Charlie's sobs stabbed into his heart, and Galen felt a pang of regret in his belly. He rubbed his hand softly over the thick curls on the back of his little brother's head. "Don't cry, Charlie."_

"_Promise me, Lenny," Charlie's muffled voice repeated, "Promise me you'll come back and everything will be okay."_

_And against his gut and better angels, Lt. Galen Adams kissed the top of his brother's head and whispered, "I promise, baby boy, I promise you."_

"Charlie," Doc muttered, "Charlie..."

Dillon stirred from a restless sleep and moved closer to Adams. "Doc?"

Doc moaned, licking his parched lips. "Guess I'd have to leave you someday..."

Matt wiped a wet compress over Doc's fevered forehead, and grasped the physician's outstretched hand tightly in his own. Adams continued to mutter incoherently about Charlie, but all Dillon could do was sit helplessly by and watch him deteriorate...

_From the moment he stepped onto the edge of the family property, his insides began to shake. He hadn't seen them in four years. He hadn't seen them since he'd become a full-fledged doctor. He hadn't seen them since he'd been incarcerated in Libby Prison. He hadn't seen them since he'd suffered unspeakable cruelties at the hands of the Confederates: he hadn't seen them since he'd become a man._

_Galen walked down the large curving path toward the small yellow farmhouse nestled next to the large red barn, and he could feel the perspiration that had broken out across his brow. He let out a long sigh of air, trying to calm his bedraggled nerves, but the anticipation of seeing his family was almost more than he could bear. As he approached the little house, he took in every detail of it; each and every crack in the wall, the slightly marred paint and even the dilapidated white eaves filled him with a joy he had thought lost to him forever. He gripped his small knapsack tightly in his large hand, and ran for the front door._

"_Mama! Gladys! Charlie!" He yelled, "I'm home!" Galen pulled the front door open, expecting to see them sitting at the old wooden table, but the house radiated an eerie stillness. "Mama? Mama! I'm home!" He quickly looked through the other small rooms, and was disappointed to find them empty. "Damn..."_

_He set his bag on a chair and looked around, spotting the coffee pot sitting on the stove. He walked over to it, expecting to find it warm at least, but the old tin pot was stone cold. Frowning, Galen headed for the barn outside._

"_Gladys? Mama? Charlie!" He yelled, "Where is everybody?"_

_And then he saw them. _

_Shuddering with each step, Galen walked slowly toward the old oak tree nestled around the far side of the barn. Tears stung his eyes as he knelt in front of the two wooden markers, and the harsh reality that both his mother and sister had been dead for more than a year struck him as swiftly as a blow. The deep voice from behind caused him to start._

"_Galen."_

_Deeply stunned, Doc stood and faced the owner of the basso voice; a towering man of at least six foot two; a man with a shock of dark wavy hair, square chin and pale blue eyes._

"_Charlie?"_

"_Hello, Galen," Charlie said as he continued on his way into the barn._

_The elder Adams recovered from his stupor and followed his brother. "Charlie...come back here." He followed the young man into the barn and growled at him as he saddled his horse. "I've been gone for four years, I come home to find the graves of my mother and sister, and all my little brother has to say to me is, 'Hello Galen?'"_

_Charlie didn't miss a beat as he answered, "What else did you want me to say?"_

_Galen grabbed his younger brother and pulled him around, gripping him hard by the arms. "I want you to tell me what happened to mama and Gladys for a start," he snarled._

_Galen stared into the deep pale eyes that he knew were his brother's, but nothing else of the young man standing before him resembled the boy he had left behind._

"_Cholera, almost a year ago," Charlie finally stated._

_As soon as he'd answered, Charlie turned back around to finish saddling his horse._

"_Charlie," Galen growled, "Stop turning away from me. What is the matter with you?"_

_The young man faced his brother once again. "What's the matter with _me_? Since the day you left until the day she died, mama continually let me know that I would never be able to fill your shoes, big brother. No matter how tall I grew, or how much money I could earn in town gamblin' it wasn't good enough for mama." He glared into his big brother's eyes. "But money's money, Len, and no matter where it comes from, it pays for needs. I took care of both of them like you told me; but my way was never good enough for mama."_

_His emotions spiraling, Galen tried to assimilate all of it. His voice turned soft with sadness, "The farm, Charlie, it looks like it hasn't been cared for in a long while."_

"_I'm not a farmer any more than you are, Galen. I stayed until you came back, and now you're here, so now it's my turn."_

"_Your turn?"_

"_To see the world. To experience life. To go out and make my way in it."_

_Galen took his brother by the arm. "Charlie, you aren't makin' a lick of sense."_

"_It's simple, Lenny, You're back to take care of things, so I'm leavin'."_

"_Leaving?"_

"_Yes. I'm a gambler, and a damned good one. Good enough to make a living at it."_

"_You call gamblin' makin' a living, do you baby boy?"_

_Charlie glared hard into his brother's face. "Don't call me that. As you can see, I'm all grown up now. And I'm a helluva lot bigger'n you."_

"_Taller maybe, bigger, I don't think so."_

_Charlie opted to swallow down the insult. "Look, I'm sorry this isn't the homecoming you were expecting, but it's the way things are."_

"_And you're just gonna run off, goin' God knows where, doin' Satan knows what?"_

"_Yeah, that's about the size of it."_

"_What about the farm?"_

_Charlie shrugged. "Work it, sell it, I don't much care, I'm done with it."_

"_I forbid you to go," Galen growled._

"_What?"_

"_You heard me, Charlie, I forbid you to go. Now you unsaddle that horse and come into the house and we'll talk this out."_

_But instead of acquiescing, the baby brother he adored more than life itself laughed at him. "You can't forbid me nothin', Lenny. I'm a grown man now."_

_Trying to swallow down his hurt, Galen forced his timbre to remain steady, "You're sixteen, Charlie. Your voice has changed and you've grown tall, but you're sixteen."_

"_Sixteen or sixty, who's gonna stop me?" Charlie laughed, glaring down at his much smaller brother. "You?"_

_Galen felt his face flush with anger as he balled his fists into his hips. "If I have to, yes."_

"_We'll just see about that..."_

_And before Galen knew what hit him, Charlie lunged at him, knocking him to the ground, his big fists pounding mercilessly into his older brother's body..._

Dillon gently restrained Doc's upper body from thrashing. "Easy ol' boy, easy does it."

"Charlie, please stop..."

"Doc," Dillon said gently brushing a hand over the doctor's brow, "It's me, Doc, it's Matt."

After a long moment, Doc's eyes slowly opened. "Matt," he muttered tiredly.

"Yeah." Dillon wiped Adams' face down with a cool cloth. "You've got a pretty bad fever, and it's making you delirious. You've been calling out for your brother," Dillon stated matter-of-factly.

"Was I?" Matt nodded, so Doc continued, "Well, I'm not surprised." He studied the disturbed face of the man he loved like a son. "You don't like Charlie much, do ya?"

Dillon stared hard into the sea of soft pale blue. "I don't like or dislike him, Doc, I just don't think much of the way he treats you."

Adams could feel the anger radiating out from Matt's chest. "You want to hurt him, Matt?"

"Let's just say that it would be best if he doesn't show his face in Dodge, and leave it at that."

"He didn't mean it, Matt. He didn't mean for this to happen."

Dillon's face flashed granite anger. "Don't you dare make excuses for him to me, Doc. Not to me. I almost lost you because of what he did--" Matt's shimmering blue eyes glossed over with a sheen of moisture, his voice rising with emotion. "Don't you understand what he did to you? What he almost did to all of us?"

Adams swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, Matt. I don't think I realized what all this cost you until just now."

Dillon wiped away the fresh beads of sweat that had formed on Doc's brow. "Why don't you close your eyes and try to get some rest?" Adams' eyelids fluttered and Matt ran a soothing hand over his forehead. "That's it, just go back to sleep for awhile."

"You stayin' right here?" Adams' tired voice asked.

"I got nowhere else to go. Besides, it's almost daybreak, and I have to start diggin' us outta here; I don't wanna be stuck in here with the likes of you indefinitely..."

Doc grasped Matt's hand with his own, "You ain't no prize yourself, Mr. Marshal, no sir." He sighed with exhaustion and mumbled, "Can't think of one damned reason why I'm so proud of you; I must be turnin' feeble in my old age."

Dillon smiled slightly. "Yeah, that must be it."

Doc's heavy eyelids stayed open long enough to glare into the marshal's amused face. "Oh, pshaw!"

Matt carefully set Adams' right hand down, patting the top of it. "Get some rest, Doc. I'll be close by if you need me."

The fleeting levity that had colored Doc's voice was gone as he said, "Get the fever down, Matt," he unsuccessfully tried to swallow down his concern, "I'm awful warm..."

"I know," Dillon's worried voice responded. "I need to get you back to Dodge."

Adams drifted into an uneasy sleep, and after watching Doc for a minute or two, Matt turned his attention to the task of breaking through the wall of ice.

* * *

"It's comin' on this side, Mr. Dillon," Chester yelled as more snow and ice tumbled through the tunnel the two of them had been digging from opposite ends of the wall for the past four hours.

"It's weakening here too," Matt responded as he continued to chip the snow with his gun barrel, occasionally pushing on the loose patches of ice with his shoulders, shoving it toward Chester's side of the wall.

Goode dug as hard as he could with the butt of his rifle, and finally a hole the size of a melon opened up on the outside. Chester peered through it and came nose to nose with the marshal of Dodge.

"Wull forevermore, Mr. Dillon, if I'da known you was that close I wouldn't have shoved so hard with the butt of this rifle! I coulda given ya a black eye!"

Matt's face filled the gap in the wall. "Just keep widening this passageway, Chester. I need to check on Doc."

"How's he doin', Mr. Dillon?"

Matt shook his head. "He's got a pretty bad fever, and although he hasn't complained much, I'm sure he's in a lot of pain." Dillon sighed slightly. "We need to dig a passageway large enough for a man's body to fit through it lying down."

"You're plannin' on pushin' him through here?"

"Feet first, Chester."

"Wull forevermore..."

Dillon pulled his upper body back into the cavern and he heard Chester begin to chip away at the hole with his rifle. Matt bent down next to the small doctor covered with two coats and realized Adams was shivering.

Alarm filled Matt's voice, "Doc? Doc!" But the physician didn't respond. Dillon looked at his fingernail beds and saw that they had turned blue. "Damnit!" He quickly moved back to the hole in the wall of ice. "Chester, I need your coat."

"What?"

"I need your coat."

"Well now, Mr. Dillon, my coat ain't gonna fit you, not--"

"--Chester, it's for Doc. Hurry up."

Goode reluctantly slipped out of his coat and passed it through the hole in the wall. He watched Dillon move over to the old doctor and cover him with it, and then Matt built up the fire, gently drawing Adams' body closer to it. The marshal examined his friend and discovered that his lips were bluish and his flesh felt like ice.

"Mr. Dillon?" Chester's muffled voice questioned.

Matt looked up toward the open area of ice pack. "I think he's going into some kind of delayed shock, Chester, he's very cold."

"I-is he gonna be all right?"

"I don't know. Keep digging, I'm gonna try and warm him a little."

"Yes sir."

Matt began briskly massaging Doc's legs, trying to get his circulation moving to bring his core temperature back up. He moved up and back, and then rubbed his hands over the right side of Doc's chest and arm, warming the doctor's good hand between both of his. Adams groaned and Dillon repeated the process until Doc came around slightly.

"Doc? Can you hear me?" Adams moaned, his respiration becoming more rapid by the second. "Come on ol' boy, I need you to tell me what to do to help you."

"R-raise my legs," Doc said weakly.

Dillon moved the nearest large rock over and lifted Doc's legs on top of it. "What else?"

Adams fought the foggy confusion trying to close in on his mind. "Keep the blood flow moving to my heart."

"What do you mean?"

"What you were doing before," Adams said through chattering teeth. He shivered harshly. "God it's so damned cold..."

Matt once again took up the chore of briskly rubbing Doc's legs, chest and arm, until he heard a strange sound coming from the wall blocking the entrance. He looked over in time to see Chester pull himself through the small pathway, tumbling head first to the floor of the cave.

"Chester," Matt called, "are you all right?"

Goode stood up, and limped toward Matt. "Yes, Mr. Dillon, far as I can tell. That hole's large enough for you and Doc now." He looked down at Adams. "How is Doc?"

Matt glanced at the small man and said, "A little better than he was awhile ago. His breathing's evened out a bit and he isn't shivering so much." Dillon tightened the coats around Adams and stood. "Let's get him out of here, Chester."

"Mr. Dillon, it's started to snow again outside."

Matt sighed. "Is it heavy?"

"Not yet, but by the looks of it, it will be. And the wind's startin' to pick up too."

Dillon nodded. "Then let's cover as much ground as we can. You get back through that wall. I'm gonna carry Doc over and put his legs through first so I can support his shoulder."

Goode nodded and quickly worked his way through the makeshift tunnel to the outside, where he stood and faced the hole. Matt gently picked Adams up, trying not to touch his left side, although Doc moaned in pain despite Dillon's best effort. He carried the small man to the tunnel in the wall and aimed him feet first through it, trying his best to support him from his lower back and not his shoulders. Chester gently eased Adams' feet through his side, and Matt crawled on his belly behind, trying to keep any weight off Doc's upper body.

But Chester's hands slipped from the cold as he tried to grip Adams' waist and the little doctor's upper body banged into the the ice wall as he slid to the ground, causing him to howl in agony from the blow.

"Mr. Dillon!" Chester screamed, "Mr. Dillon!"

Matt shot himself through the icy tube head first as fast as he could, bending down next to Doc. He pulled Adams into his arms, leaning his right side into him, taking the weight off the damaged shoulder. Doc's breath emitted in short gasps of pain, intermixed with moans of discomfort. Dillon rubbed a soothing hand over his back trying to calm him.

"Chester," Matt growled, "what happened?"

"He just slipped, Mr. Dillon," his assistant answered. "I thought I had him," his voice shook with guilt, "but he just slipped from my fingers."

Sensing Chester's deep regret, Matt's anger quickly dissipated. "I'm sorry, Chester, I know you didn't do it on purpose." The two men held each other's eyes for a moment, then Dillon said, "Can you go back inside the cavern and pull out the saddlebags and any supplies that are there? We might need them."

"Yes sir," Goode said, thankful that he had something to do other than watch Doc writhe in pain.

Matt returned his attention to Adams and he brushed a soft hand over the back of the man's head. "How is it, Doc? Any better?"

"Hurts like blue blazes," Adams whispered wearily.

"Can I do anything?" Adams shook his head, but Matt could sense there was something. He allowed his hand to continue slowly stroking the back of the old man's head. "Tell me," he demanded softly.

After a long beat, Doc whispered, "I'm worried about Charlie."

Matt closed his eyes and sighed. "After everything he's put you through, and you still care what happens to him?"

"He's still my baby," Doc said sadly.

Chester arrived with the saddlebags. "Mr. Dillon, should I look for branches to make a travois?"

"No Chester," he said looking down at Adams, "I don't think Doc's shoulder can take the bumps of a travois. I'll ride him up in the saddle with me."

"That's gonna be an awful hard ride for you, Mr. Dillon."

"Maybe," Matt said, "but a lot easier on Doc."

* * *

After freeing the outlaw's horses and saddling their own, Matt and Chester shrugged their coats on. Dillon held Chester's reins as he mounted Buck, and as gently as he could, Goode handed Doc up to Matt, followed by a blanket. Dillon leaned the small doctor's right side into his chest and wrapped the wool blanket around Adams. He handed the reins of Chester's horse to him, and the two men slowly started down the icy cliffs, being careful to keep the horses as steady as possible. Frigid wind and snow blew hard into them, and Matt kept a tight grip on the waistband of Doc's pants with his right hand, cautiously steering the horse with his other. Adams groaned painfully as they met the trail at the base of the rock formations, and Dillon pulled up on his reins.

"Doc? You okay?" He felt the old doctor nod against his chest, but the fact that the man didn't answer his question told him more. Dillon gently adjusted Adams against him. "Would a shot of whiskey help?"

"No," Doc said, his voice tight with pain.

"Chester," Matt yelled to be heard above the wind, "We need to find some shelter; Doc needs to rest awhile."

Adams gripped Dillon's coat with his good hand. "I'll be okay, Matt..."

But Dillon shook his head. "No, you won't." He looked again at his assistant. "Let's see about finding a glade of trees or some other kind of shelter against this cold."

"All right, Mr. Dillon, I'll ride a ways ahead and double back when I find somethin'. You just take your time with Doc and try not to jostle him none."

Matt watched with mixed feelings as Chester spurred his chestnut into a faster gait. The conditions were less than favorable, and he didn't like the idea of Goode riding up too far ahead for Dillon to keep an eye on him; but then he looked down at Adams, and the grimace on the doctor's face reminded him of why it was necessary for Chester to take the chance.

"Hang in there, Doc," Matt said softly, "we'll find a place to stop soon."

Adams again nodded slightly, but found himself in too much pain to answer.

* * *

Dillon followed Chester into a thick glade of trees, nestled up against the side of a large crest of rocks. Goode nodded toward the small man huddled in front of a crackling fire. "That there's the fella I was tellin' you about, Mr. Dillon, his name's Pete Sinclair."

Dillon nodded toward the man. "Sinclair."

"Marshal," Pete acknowledged. He looked at the figure under the blanket leaning against Dillon's large frame. "Need some help gettin' off yer horse, marshal?"

"No thanks, Chester'll do that."

Sinclair stood and walked toward the men. "That there feller's hurt awful bad, huh?"

"Yeah," Dillon said.

Goode reached up to take Adams' right side from Dillon. "His shoulder's all torn up," he said to Pete. "It's too bad he can't doctor himself..."

Dillon and Goode were too busy to pickup on the alarm in Sinclair's eyes. "He a sawbones, is he?"

"Yeah," Chester said, gritting his teeth from the strain of Doc's weight. "You got him, Mr. Dillon?"

Matt dismounted and took the burden from Goode. "Yeah, Chester, I've got him. You see to the horses."

Dillon carried Adams to the fire, and gently set him down, lying him as close as he could to the warmth, folding some saddlebags under his head to take the pressure off his injured limb. Pete walked over to get a better look, although he already suspicioned that the downed man was none other than Charlie's brother. He leaned over Matt and examined Doc's face in the firelight, confirming his assumption.

"Sure looks like he needs a doctor," Sinclair commented.

Matt looked up at the man. "Yeah," he said thinly. His eyes narrowed. "What exactly was it that you were doing out here in the middle of a snowstorm, Mr. Sinclair?"

Pete shook slightly under the scrutiny of the big man, but he hoped Dillon would chock it up to the cold. "Like I told Chester, I was huntin' for a rabbit or if I was lucky, a deer. Ain't had nothin' to eat in days. My horse got spooked, threw me, and I wandered into this here glade for some shelter against the wind."

"Uh-huh," Matt said, turning his attention back to Doc.

Chester looked up from unsaddling the horses, recognizing the tone Dillon reserved for a bold-faced lie, but he said nothing. He brought over his saddlebag and began to make coffee.

"You have any jerky in there, Chester?" Dillon asked.

"Might have a little, Mr. Dillon, I'll look." Chester dug around and found a small piece of dried meat, he walked it over to Matt. "Here ya are, but it ain't much."

"It's better than nothing, Chester, thanks." Matt knelt down and gently touched the jerky to Adams' lips. "Come on, Doc, take a little of this." Doc groaned and turned his head away. "Please Doc, you need to eat something."

But Adams wouldn't take any.

"He's in a bad way, marshal," Pete said, licking his lips. "Maybe you shouldn't waste that jerky on him. He don't look like he's gonna make it."

Matt stood up, towering over Sinclair. "We're gonna save it for later when he does feel like eatin' it. You got that?"

"Sure marshal, sure," Sinclair said nervously, "I was just sayin..."

"Well don't say anything more." Matt looked over at Goode. "Chester, if you have anything else to eat, give some to Sinclair and eat some yourself."

"What about you?"

"You hold out my portion for Doc. I'm not hungry."

"How 'bout some coffee then?"

"I'd love some, Chester."

Matt walked over to his assistant and waited while Chester poured coffee for Sinclair, Dillon and himself, then he went back over and sat down next to Adams. Sinclair sat next to Chester.

"He sure is protective of that ol' sawbones."

Chester glared at Sinclair from underneath the brim of his hat. "Doc is family. To _both_ of us."

Sinclair tried to shrug it off. "Makes no nevermind to me nohow."

"See that it doesn't," Chester warned, before he stood and went over to Dillon.

Sinclair watched them for awhile, and decided to get some sleep; he was safe as long as the old doctor didn't wake up and recognize him. Before long, an opportunity would undoubtedly present itself, and Pete Sinclair could rid himself of the good doctor in a way that appeared to be completely natural...


	11. Chapter 11

Charlie could see the fire from quite a ways away in the dawn's first light. He moved his horse in its direction and spurred him on…

* * *

Pete Sinclair added chicory to the coffee pot, which didn't escape Chester.

"Do ya always add Chicory, Sinclair?"

"Most of the time. You don't like chicory?"

"I like it just fine," Chester sniffed, "but I think ya added too much."

Sinclair glared at him. "Ya won't think that when ya taste it."

Dillon checked on Doc, who was still asleep, and deciding that sleep was the best thing for him, walked over the fire and the smell of coffee.

"You boys have coffee brewin'?"

"It'll be ready soon, Mr. Dillon," Chester offered.

"Good."

The three men sat in silence until the coffee was ready and poured.

"That old man who's hurt… where ya gonna take him?" Sinclair asked.

"Dodge," Dillon curtly said.

Sinclair nodded but said nothing, instead warily watching the old sawbones in case he woke up and recognized him.

* * *

Charlie could smell the coffee from a bit away, dismounted, put up his horse and traveled the rest of the way on foot – always better to have the advantage of surprise. As he approached the campfire, he could hear voices and immediately recognized that of Pete Sinclair. He cautiously moved in behind the trees and observed the other two men: Chester Goode and Matt Dillon. And there was apparently another man still sleeping a ways away.

He surmised that he would have to wait until the lawmen left before he could confront Sinclair and question him about Galen. He was reasonably certain that he could overtake Sinclair. His worry for his brother reinserted itself and Charlie had to shake it off. How could Galen have even survived? He slammed his eyes shut. It hadn't been his intention, and Galen had been right that Charlie only came to him when he needed something. It wasn't fair; it hadn't been fair for years. He silently prayed that his brother would be all right and that he'd find him.

* * *

Doc began to stir, and Dillon went to him.

"Hey Doc," Matt said as he helped him into a sitting position. "How're ya feeling?"

"Pretty stiff, Matt."

"It's plenty cold and you've been through hell, old boy."

"Do I smell coffee?"

Matt smiled; it seemed like a good sign to him. "You bet you do. Hey Chester, can you bring another cup over here?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Dillon!"

While Dillon and Goode were distracted by Adams, Sinclair grabbed ahold of his rifle and prepared to use it.

Doc took a sip of the coffee, then looked over in Sinclair's direction, just as Matt and Chester were moving back toward the fire.

"Hey! What the hell's he doing here?"

As Matt and Chester turned to see what Doc was yelling about, Sinclair pulled the rifle up and took aim. From behind the trees, Charlie, who had been observing them and knew Doc was with them, saw Sinclair and his rifle. Charlie bolted toward Galen, screaming a warning at the lawmen.

"Dillon, Goode, get down! Galen!"

Matt drew his gun as Chester tried to move back toward Doc. Sinclair took aim at Adams and pulled the trigger. Dillon fired his gun, dropping Sinclair to the ground and watched in horror as Charlie appeared from nowhere, diving in front of Doc, taking the full force of the buckshot in the chest.

"Charlie!" Doc yelled in panic.

Chester got to the younger Adams first, and turned him over. "Easy, just lie easy."

"Oh God it hurts…"

Dillon knelt next to Charlie. "Let me see it…" He ripped open Charlie's shirt and the blood and gaping hole he found told even his untrained eye all he needed to know. "Damn…"

Doc was beside himself in panic. "Matt! Matt!"

Dillon moved over to Doc and helped him up and over to his younger brother, putting a hand on Galen's arm. "Doc… it's bad."

Disregarding his demolished shoulder, Doc knelt by Charlie and examined the wound. Tears stung his eyes as he looked at the damage. "Oh sweet Jesus…"

Dillon placed a steadying hand on Doc's shoulder. "Is there anything we can do?"

Galen shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to quell his tears. "No," he whispered, "there's nothing to do."

"Galen…" Charlie's weak voice cried, "Galen, help me, please."

Galen took Charlie's outstretched hand in his and held it tightly. "Easy baby boy, I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

"Galen… can you fix it?"

Doc felt the pang of the question in his heart, Charlie reminding him of when he was little.

"Oh Charlie…"

Dillon moved slightly away from Doc and Charlie to give them privacy and indicated for Goode to follow him.

And the truth of it struck the younger man. "I've gone and done it this time, haven't I Galen?"

Doc brushed his brother's forehead soothingly. "I'm afraid so, baby boy."

"I guess it was only a matter of time, Galen."

"Why the hell did you do it, Charlie? Why did you step in front of me?"

Charlie smiled then. "I owed you at least that, don't you think, Lenny? After everything I've put you through over the years…"

Doc tried again to quell the tears, but couldn't. "You didn't need to give up your life, Charlie, not for me. I would have preferred it had been me, baby boy, don't you know that?"

"I'm not a baby anymore, Len…" Charlie smiled at his brother through his pain. "Don't you see that?"

Galen nodded. "You're right, bab—Charlie. You've been a man for a long time."

"Hey Len?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't leave me here, Lenny. Please don't…"

Doc pulled Charlie into his arms. "I wouldn't ever leave you, Charlie."

"I want to go home, Len."

"To the farm?"

"No… with you. You're home."

"Then I'll take you back to Dodge. With me."

Charlie swallowed hard. "I'm thirsty, Len."

Doc reached over for Matt's cup of water that he had earlier, and held it to Charlie's lips, pouring some in his mouth.

"Thanks."

Charlie cried out then, in agony and Doc held him tighter. "I'm here, Charlie."

"So cold now, Lenny…"

"Shhh, my baby boy, shhh…"

"Lenny?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Galen's voice shook with emotion, "I love you too, Charlie. Always have, always will."

Doc felt the last breath of his brother, and he slowly allowed his face to drop into Charlie's thick hair, sobbing. Dillon and Chester could only stand by and watch Doc grieve for the boy he loved and cherished his whole life.

Chester took a step forward and Dillon put his arm on his shoulder. "Don't, Chester. Leave him be. Doc needs to be alone right now."

"But Mister Dillon, Doc's so alone right now."

"No Chester, he's not. We're here, and we're gonna see take him home."

"Mr. Dillon?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you think Charlie Adams had it in him? To save Doc, I mean, knowing that he'd be killed?"

"Nope, I didn't." Dillon looked over at Doc. "But I am sure am glad to have been wrong, Chester…"

"I know whatcha mean, Mr. Dillon, I surely do."

###


End file.
